The Blonde and The Beast
by CCNilesBabcock
Summary: It is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that we welcome you tonight. And now we invite you to relax, let us pull up a chair as TheCrownedLioness and I proudly present a "Beauty and The Beast" AU, where a certain brainy Blonde and a blue-eyed beast will learn that appearances can be deceiving, for beauty is found within.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hello, people! Well, my visit to the UK has come to an end! TheCrownedLioness and I had an incredible time, and we are looking forward to the next time we can see each other. Anyway, after having watched the live action version of "The Beauty and The Beast" we decided to create our own little AU, where a certain brainy Blonde and a blue-eyed beast will learn that appearances can be deceiving, for beauty is found within. Just to let you know, we are working with the movie's script, for we decided to use and adapt both scenes and dialogues to use in our story. Nothing belongs to us, we just borrowed these wonderful characters for a little while.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **H &L**

* * *

 ** _Prologue_**

The castle was quiet that time of night. A lot of the servants had retired for the evening, or were at least down in the kitchens finishing up the last of the cleaning from the night's dinner. A few were still hurrying along the lower corridors, and bowed or curtsied as he passed, bidding them goodnight, but he was otherwise by himself.

C.C. had retired early, claiming fatigue, and left him to walk alone. He didn't mind so much, even if it was slightly lonely and made him reminiscent of the years spent wandering the halls by himself. Her tiredness was more important. There would be other occasions for romantic walks in the gardens. Other occasions for more romantic things than just walking in the gardens, too...

He was thankful the corridor was empty, otherwise the smile on his face at the thought of his wife in his arms might have produced strange looks in others. It made him hurry towards their rooms, too. He wanted to be next to her as soon as possible; even if she was too tired for what he was thinking about, just being by her side made him feel good, and helped him to sleep.

He could see the door just ahead, and almost couldn't contain his happiness as he picked up his pace to turn the handle...

He was surprised, upon opening the door and stepping inside, to find C.C. sat before the room's fireplace, their little Amelia in her arms. Before her, there were two prams – one Amelia's, the other new and unfamiliar. C.C. beamed at him as he entered, to which he almost considered raising an eyebrow. She didn't seem exhausted at all, and where had this new pram come from?

"Ordered another pram for our little one, my love?" he asked. "I didn't think she'd yet worn out the one we currently have."

"No she hasn't," his wife said, giving him a sort of playful smile. "Actually her pram is still in perfect conditions."

He could sense she was up to something both by her tone and by her frolicsome demeanour, which was somewhat odd considering how worn out she'd appeared during dinner. Truth to be told, he'd noticed she had been particularly fatigued as of late, but she'd dismissed his concerns claiming that it was nothing. Be that as it may, he'd decided to call the royal physician if she continued feeling unwell, but judging by her spirited moods, it wasn't going to be necessary! The colour which so often fled her face, had returned and she hadn't looked so lively and full of energy in months.

Although his wife had always favoured wearing slightly more racy nightwear in the privacy of their chambers, tonight she had chosen to use a particularly loose and demure nightgown, which was a bit of an oddity as well. He wasn't about to mention it, though; she could be wearing a sack of potatoes and she'd still be the most beautiful woman on the face of this Earth.

"Hm," he affected a pensive look, "then I am afraid I have to ask you; why are we in need of a new pram?"

She didn't reply immediately. Instead, she gestured for him to close the door and then, once it was closed, for him to come sit by her side. Their one year old was safely snuggled in her arms and fast asleep – a sight that he still thanked the heavens for. Once, he had believed that he would never have a family of his own, but the wonderful woman sat in front of him had turned the impossible into his beautiful reality.

In order to be more comfortable, he toed off his shoes and discarded his cutaway tailored coat, waistcoat, stockings and breeches. Now he was only clad in his underwear and undress shirt. He'd been craving to do this for hours, and the prospect of a tranquil evening with his wife filled him with a warm sense of belonging that he'd come to cherish. Married life was truly blissful, and it suited him well.

So, now properly dressed for a quiet evening, he leisurely walked over to his wife and sat by her side before draping an arm around her.

"Tell me, lover, what are prams for?" she asked as she nestled into him, not giving him time to ask anything else after he'd settled down.

"Why, for small children to sleep in them, of course!" he replied amusedly.

"So, if we have two prams and one of them belongs to our daughter, who do you think the second one belongs to?"

There was a momentary blip in the conversation and his eyebrows knitted in confusion. What on Earth was she talking about? They only had one child, so how could he know who was the owner of that second pra-

 _Oh..._

 _Right._

He couldn't help noticing the fastening of his heartbeat and his deep intake of air when realisation finally washed over him. His whole body was trembling and time seemed to have slowed down almost to a standstill. Could she really be...?

Almost as if she'd been reading his mind, C.C. reached out for his hand and guided it to her abdomen, where he felt the outline of a small (but clearly distinguishable) bump lying just underneath the fabric of her nightgown. He began to laugh, softly and breathlessly – it was a sound that even to him spoke volumes of his wonder, and excitement.

He looked between her abdomen and her shining eyes, triumph and happiness written all over her face.

"You...you really mean-"

She nodded and answered before he could say any more, "That's right. There's going to be another little prince or princess running around this castle!"

Another little prince or princess! Their two children, to hold and adore...The very thought made tears spring to his eyes, and he closed the gap between their lips to kiss his wife, pouring into it all the love and affection he could possibly muster.

He pulled away and used the arm around her to hug her tighter, "I love you, so very much..."

"I love you too," she murmured in reply, looking between him, their still-sleeping eldest daughter, and the place where he had felt her bump. "We all do."

He laughed again, tears still leaking from his bright blue eyes. The eyes she had fallen in love with, even when they'd been hidden in the body of a beast. Back then, he'd thought himself to be unlovable and incapable of loving someone back, but not only had she proved him wrong, but she'd also made him the happiest man on this Earth in the process.

"It seems our Petite Fleur will have a little brother and sister in...?"

"Six months," she completed. "I knew something was up when I missed my period for two consecutive months, but I decided to wait one extra month before telling you, just to be cautious."

Well, it sounded like his wife to be cautious. In any case, he was grateful for the wonderful fact that she was pregnant once again. He wanted to have as many children as possible with her, and they had the time, the money, the inclination and the room to raise them all. He was determined to be the best father he could be, even if the ghost of his own father still haunted him, like a menacing shadow hanging over him. He didn't want to repeat his mistakes, but as his wife so often reminded him, he wasn't his father – he'd changed.

"You are wonderful," he said and kissed her on the lips. "Absolutely wonderful!"

"And so are you," C.C. replied, kissing him back eagerly.

However, all the affection going on in the room woke a now fussy Amelia up, and she was quick to make her discomfort known in the form of small whimpers.

"Oh... no, Petite Fleur, don't you cry," Niles said, pulling away from C.C. to take his eldest – _eldest!_ – child in his arms. "Papa is here."

"We are trying to get her to sleep, not to cry harder," his wife teased.

"Oh, hush," he pretended to scold as he bounced the little girl. But then he feigned relenting. "I'm allowing you that one, because you just gave me the best news a man could ever receive."

He turned the little princess around so she was sat facing C.C. on his knee, continuing to jog it up and down to make her giggle.

And giggle she did – their little one wasn't an unhappy child, unless she was woken abruptly or if she was hurt, and the two parents loved hearing the sound of her playing happily.

"You're going to be a big sister, Petite Fleur," he crooned, kissing the curls on the top of her head. "You're going to have someone to play with, and who'll love you like your Mama and Papa do..."

C.C. watched the scene in front of her with a smile; she adored her husband, and their daughter and unborn child. She knew that they'd love however many children they had, and that family time would be no less precious – no less her favourite time – however many people were there.

But it was late, and their little princess did need to be put to bed.

"And Mama has something very special for you," she half-whispered, wiggling one of Amelia's feet with a finger and thumb. "A very special bedtime story, all about love, and princes and princesses, and a very special, very important flower."

Niles quirked an eyebrow at her words. He knew which story she was talking about, but he had never thought she'd use it as a bedtime story for one of their children. He supposed there was no harm in them knowing – sooner or later, they'd find out about how they'd fallen in love – but he couldn't help feeling somewhat... surprised. They always told their child a story before putting her to bed, but they'd never told her about their very own fairy-tale.

He wasn't about to let his uneasiness come in the way of his wife's storytelling, though. Instead, he moved closer to her and placed their baby on his lap as he wrapped an arm around his wife.

"Once upon a time, in the hidden heart of France, a handsome young prince lived in a beautiful castle," C.C. began in a soft, yet enthralling, voice.

It was almost funny to see just how interested Amelia was in her mother's words, even if the child was still too young to understand what was being told to her. He also knew that the attention span of a toddler wasn't exactly long, but his wife had always had a talent to catch everyone's attention without even trying, and their child clearly was not an exception.

"Although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was selfish and unkind," she continued, "He taxed the village to fill his castle with the most beautiful objects. And his parties with the most beautiful people. Then one night an unexpected intruder arrived at the castle, seeking shelter from the bitter storm. As a gift, she offered the prince, a single rose."

C.C.'s voice suddenly became grave and mysterious, "Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince turned the woman away. But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. When he dismissed her again, the old woman's outward appearance melted away, to reveal a beautiful enchantress."

Niles pursed his lips, he remembered this part as if it had happened yesterday.

But he still wasn't going to interrupt, even if he was ashamed of how he had behaved before. He knew it was in the past, and wasn't going to let it affect their present. Besides, his wife's voice (not just when telling stories) was one he could never bring himself to speak over.

"The prince begged for forgiveness," she continued, a growing tension in her tone. "But it was too late."

Even though he knew all of this, Niles still felt his heart sink. Not just because it was his story, but because C.C. had such a talent at making the words come to life. It made listening so easy, it was almost impossible not to.

"For she had seen that there was no love in his heart," she looked up at Niles, and automatically moved as close as she could possibly get to him. "As punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast, and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there."

A _very powerful spell_ , Niles thought, continuing to listen.

"As days bled into years, the prince and his servants were forgotten by the world," C.C. stroked her daughter's hair, touching the tips of her fingers against her cheeks. "For the enchantress had erased all memory of them, from the minds of the people they loved."

Niles knew exactly what was coming next, and he could only remain transfixed, with hope – a hope he knew had already come to pass, really – swelling in his heart.

His wife really did have a gift at this.

"But the rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose. If he could learn to love another, and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell, the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time."

Niles couldn't help the small sigh that left his lips. Sometimes, when he looked back on his days as a beast, he was invaded by an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness. Even if he now was a father and happily married man, he was still affected by the scars left by his lonely years as a beast.

"As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope. For who could ever learn to love a beast?" he completed, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

There was a short silence which C.C. used to hold him close and to stroke his chest with her bejewelled hand – she knew her touch soothed him.

"But this is not a sad story," she continued, kissing his neck. "For many years later, a beacon of hope arrived to a small provincial town not far away from the prince's castle. This beacon of hope happened to be a young maiden, who was seen as a bit of an oddball by the townsfolk. They would say she was strange and that she always had her head up on some cloud."

"But what they didn't know," he spoke, entwining their hands and smiling down at his wife, who had lain her head on his shoulder. "Was that she was a woman far ahead of her time..."


	2. Chapter 2

**_AN: Well, we hope you enjoy this chapter! We'd love to get your reviews, for they truly keep us going._**

 ** _H &L_**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 1_**

If there was something that could be said about the village of Villeneuve, was that it was a safe and quiet place. Every morning was just the same – everyone would do the same, say the same, comment on the same things… basically, life was centred around an unchanging and simple routine. Almost everyone in the town liked having this monotonous and predictable life, but that wasn't the case of Chastity-Claire Babcock.

Although she'd lived in the town for fifteen years and was considered to be the most beautiful woman in town, she'd never really fitted in. This had never been a matter for concern in her eyes, either; she had learnt that it was easier if she just kept to herself. And how, you might ask, had the most beautiful woman in town become a bit of an outcast? Ah, well, as it so happened, this young woman was exceptional in many ways. Too exceptional for such a small (minded) village.

One of her most notorious peculiarities was her love for books – and so was the fact that she was the only literate woman in town, of course.

"Thank you for the book, Père!" Claire said as she walked towards the exit of the small library that her good friend, Père Robert, kindly allowed her to browse at her leisure. You see, women weren't allowed into the town's library, for the schoolmaster didn't take kindly to women getting an education. Because educated women might get ideas or even, God forbid, start _thinking_!

 _Positively sinful,_ don't you think?

Luckily enough, Père Robert didn't agree with such nonsense and his immense library was open to everyone, regardless of their sex, race, religion or age.

"I promise to bring it back next week!" the blonde said, admiring the book she'd chosen.

"I'm sure you'll be through it before then, Mademoiselle Claire," Père Robert joked in return from his shelves.

"I might re-read it, you don't know for sure," Claire grinned mischievously from the doorway.

Robert feigned looking unimpressed, "I'm sure I can guess. But I have your word to bring it back next week, so don't re-read it too many times!"

Claire laughed, and waved back as he dismissed her with one flicked motion of his wrist, and she left the library clutching her newest find to her chest. But it wasn't there for long – she had to open it and start reading!

Well, reading from where she'd left off, anyway. She hadn't been able to help herself, going beyond the first few pages right there at the bookshelf. She'd only stopped to say that she was going to take the book. But it was all worth it. It was a lovely old fairy-tale – one she had read several times before in different places – and returning to it was as comforting as returning to her own bed to rest at night.

Then again, most books were like that for her.

So, her eyes focused on the words of the open book as she made her way down the street, she kept on reading as she set off for home. She was well aware of the snide remarks and mocking comments that the townspeople made about her whenever she deigned to show her face in town. They were always the same – that a young woman as pretty as her should be worried about getting a husband rather than about what book she'd read next; that she was odd; that she was a puzzlement…

Indeed, she was too different from them, and in her town, different was tantamount to dangerous.

But Claire couldn't deny what she was, nor she desired to do so. She'd been born into a rich bourgeois family, and she'd spent the first five years of her life in Paris, going from soirée to soirée and rubbing shoulders with powerful members of the French elite. But with the advent of the plague, her family had encountered only financial ruin and the loss Claire's mother.

In an attempt to protect them from the plague that had taken their mother, her father had decided to leave their fortune and possessions behind and moved what was left of the family to the safety of the countryside. For many years, it had been just Claire, her older sister Danielle and their father, but then Danielle had gotten married and moved back to Paris with her husband while Claire and Stewart had stayed behind in Villeneuve.

She'd craved to follow in her sister´s footsteps, but at the same time she knew she couldn't leave her father alone, and she there was no point in suggesting moving back to Paris. He would never agree to it. The city brought back too many bad memories…

"Claire!" a very familiar voice called from behind her, interrupting her musings.

C.C. swallowed back a groan and stepped up the pace, all while pretending she hadn't heard Chandler's voice calling for her. For some reason the foolish oaf had set his mind in getting her to marry him! They had absolutely nothing in common, and she'd turned him down on many an occasion before, but that didn't seem to deter him…

She still couldn't believe that Chandler Graves, of all people, was interested in her!

Others in the village had, not so quietly, suggested that perhaps she should just marry him. He was the wealthiest man in the village – so much so that he could afford to do no work and spend all his time hunting – and he was probably the most handsome, too.

But that didn't matter to Claire. He was the last man she would ever marry, that much was certain.

They were too different, and shared no interests.

But that didn't seem to matter to him, as he also picked up his pace and quickly dodged in front of her, cutting her off. She noticed was holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand…

"Good morning, Claire!" he took a side step as she attempted to move around him, and ducked his head to look at her book, which she had at last lowered when she'd figured out he wasn't going away. "Wonderful book you have there!"

Claire quirked an eyebrow. This would be interesting – Chandler attempting intelligent conversation!

"Have you read it?" she asked, curious.

Chandler pulled a face which suggested he was trying to appear nonchalant, but underneath he was struggling.

"Well, not that one..." he admitted, quickly rubbing the back of his neck. "But you know, books..." for a moment he looked a bit at loss, but he quickly recovered by offering her the bouquet of flowers he'd been carrying. "For your dinner table."

She wondered if something had struck him then, because he straightened up with a new sense of purpose and confidence in his voice. However, she didn't take his flowers, but it didn't seem to bother him…

"Shall I join you, this evening?" he asked, a hint of something deep in his voice which made Claire's skin crawl unpleasantly.

She snapped her books shut and held it to her chest again, "Sorry, not this evening."

The confidence was replaced by surprise, "Busy?"

She pursed her lips.

"No," she said, before calmly walking away.

She tried not to cringe when she heard him saying to Lefou, his ever-loyal sidekick, that " _the ones that play hard to get are always the sweetest preys_ ".

She wasn't an animal to be hunted, and she'd rather be dead than be Madame Chandler.

But that didn't matter, at least not now. She had to get back home quickly for her father needed her. He would be leaving for Paris in only a few hours, and she had to be there to help him prepare for his trip.

As usual, she found him working on one of his music boxes, which he sold to rich people in Paris so as to have some extra money. His latest creation was a beautiful music box that played the lullaby her mother used to sing to her when she was a baby. It was truly beautiful, and it depicted a small family of four sat by the fire, immersed in a sort of domestic bliss.

"It's beautiful, Papa," she said, coming to hug him from behind and startling him a little.

"Claire!" Stewart said, turning his head sideways to look at her over his shoulder. "Did you get your book?"

"I did," she sighed, feeling oddly downcast. "But, Papa, do you think I am odd?"

Stewart frowned, "My daughter, odd? Where did you get an idea like that?"

Claire shrugged, and leaned against a workbench he wasn't using.

"I don't know. People talk. This is a small village, you know."

Stewart put down the box and his tools, and straightened to look at her, "Small-minded, as well."

He approached her, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking at her with a kind of pride and straightforwardness that she had come to expect from him.

"But small also means safe," he told her. There was a pause, and suddenly his smile grew a little bit wider. "Even back in Paris, I knew a girl like you who was so...ahead of her time. So different. People mocked her, until the day they all found themselves imitating her."

Claire couldn't help but return his look; he always got like this whenever he spoke of her mother. And knowing everything about her was something that Claire strove to achieve. She had been so small when her mother had been taken from them, all the information she could get was a blessing.

So, as her father turned to begin packing up his merchandise to take to the market, she followed him eagerly.

"Please, just tell me one more thing about her."

Stewart's movements came to a halt, almost as if her question had put him off balance. Her mother was a topic that he didn't like to discuss, and his unwillingness to talk about her had resulted in Claire barely remembering anything about the short years when she'd had a mother.

Granted, she knew the basics about her – that her mother had been the most beautiful woman her father had ever seen, that she was an inventor and the first woman in her family to study, and that she had died of the pest shortly after Claire's fifth birthday.

But still... with every day that went past, the memory of her mother continued to slip through her fingers like sand, getting lost forever. _Fading._ And she was afraid of this – afraid of forgetting her. Her father's reticence, in a sense, only made worsened her fears – she didn't have many substantial memories to hold onto, and although she understood her father's pain, she didn't want her mother to become but a mere stranger to her.

"Please," Claire cut into the lull and gently placed an arm around her father's shoulders. "Please, Papa, I... I want to... I mean, I'd love to... well... know more about who she was."

Her father knew better than to dismiss her pleas. He knew that his child wanted to know more about woman that had borne her, but it was still too painful to talk about her. When Beatrice died, his whole world had come apart at the seams. It had costed him his fortune and status, but he'd held it together for his children, whom he'd gotten to safety by running away to the countryside.

He couldn't deny he'd always had a sort of weak spot for his youngest child. She was not only alike to him in character, but she was also the spitting image of her mother – same height, golden curls, sharp and feminine factions and a pair of dazzling sapphire eyes. She was the embodiment of the love he'd shared with Beatrice, but the physical resemblance to her mother had only strengthened his desire to shield Claire from the dangers of the world. She was his little treasure, and he wasn't going to lose her like he'd lost his Beatrice.

But, at the same time, how could he deny her anything? Especially this! Yes, Beatrice had been his beloved wife, but she'd been Claire's mother as well, and as such, Claire deserved to know more about her, even if it pained him to mention her. He had to be strong and open up. After all, he'd done so on other occasions, such as when he'd told Claire about her mother always asking him for a rose whenever he went to the market, or whenever he'd sung Beatrice's lullaby to her children.

"Alright," he sighed, turning to face his daughter. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, almost as if needing proof that she was there, with him. "Your mother... well... she liked the wintertime. Back when we had the big house in Paris, we would always go for long walks in the gardens, even when she was too tired or too pregnant to do so. She always said that... that it gave her peace of mind and that it made you happy when you were in her belly, for you kicked and moved around inside her whenever we went out, almost as if letting us know just how much you enjoyed our walks."

Claire smiled, feeling like she could almost remember it herself, even if that wasn't really possible.

There, in her mind's eye, she could see it; a younger version of her father, arm in arm with a woman who bore the most striking resemblance to her, in a beautiful garden, admiring the beautiful flowers and occasionally stopping to stroke her rounded, pregnant belly.

Claire knew she had been nothing but loved throughout her childhood, and that would have happened right from the start.

"She...really was wonderful, wasn't she?" she asked aloud.

Stewart chuckled – it was a quiet noise; low and deep in his chest.

"Indeed she was. And she gave me the most wonderful children," he reached up and kissed her forehead, before releasing her with a stroke of her upper arms. "One of which I must unfortunately be leaving soon in order to get these boxes to market. Come, help me load them onto the cart."

She did so without protest, but she was aware he had intentionally changed the subject. She wasn't going to mention this or hold it over his head – Claire knew her father well enough to realise when he was overwhelmed, and talking about her mother usually made him feel exactly that way.

Between the two of them, they managed to load all of Stewart's creations onto the cart in only twenty minutes, so while her father prepared their horse for the trip, Claire prepared him a small bag with food for the way.

"So, what can I bring you from the market, my child?" Stewart asked as he stepped onto the cart and took a hold of the reins.

"A rose," she replied without hesitation, handing small bag with food to her father.

"You ask for that every year," he smiled down at her, a strange (if melancholic) glint in his eyes.

"And every year you bring it," his child offered, giving him a smile of her own.

"You have my word, then."

And he meant it. He wouldn't fail her. Not to his Claire.

He leaned down to kiss the crown of her head one more time before snapping the reins and taking off towards Paris.

Claire sighed, her gaze focused on the shrinking silhouette of her father getting lost beyond the horizon. The sun was setting, so the sky was painted in a sort of reddish hue and Claire took a moment to just enjoy the sight. She loved sunsets… there was something magical to them.

"It is beautif-"

"Claire!" Chandler's voice drifted to her, interrupting her spoken thought and making her cringe.

 _Damn_...why did he have to appear every time she was starting to enjoy herself? Couldn't this boorish oaf understand what "no" meant?

Clearly not, if the sight of him walking up towards the house, dressed in his finest clothes, boots and coat and carrying...a bunch of flowers...was anything to go by. She rolled her eyes, but that either didn't register to him or he purposefully ignored it. And it was hard to tell which was worse. She didn't want to be ruder than necessary, but she was so close to telling him simply to give up. It wasn't going to happen, no matter how much he wanted it to!

But it was too late to simply close the door in his face – he wouldn't leave if he knew she was right there. So instead she folded her arms and stood in the middle of the doorway, making sure he wasn't able to cross the threshold as he approached.

"What do you want, Chandler?" she asked, frustration clear in her tone. "I told you not to come here tonight."

She really wanted to add "or ever", but just talking about their earlier conversation might resonate more.

Again, he seemed unfazed by her frustration or even by the fact that she had yet again said that she didn't want him there. He kept his stupid smile in place as crossed her beautiful vegetable garden, ruining her lettuce plants by mindlessly stepping on them.

"Oh, it's just that I saw your father leaving and I figured that you might want some company," he said, offering her the flowers, which she didn't take.

"Thank you, Chandler, but no," she said, retreating into the house. "I don't need nor want any company."

Much to her annoyance, Chandler prevented her from closing the door by sticking his foot in the doorframe.

"Claire, please, give me a chance," he insisted, "I have changed."

C.C. continued to try and push the door close, her displeasure clear on her features.

"Chandler, we could never make each other happy, no one changes that much," the blonde spat.

Her words seemed to have touched something in him, for he stopped struggling to open the door and merely looked at her. There was something in his eyes that was deeply unsettling – cruel, even – and for the first time, Clair felt... _unsafe_.

"Claire, do you know what happens to spinsters in this village after their fathers die?" he said in a soft, malicious voice, and gestured at a poor woman begging for coins in the street.

Claire had seen her before. Her name was Sarah and she was a lovely woman who was treated unkindly by the townsfolk. Claire always made sure to give her food and clothes – she'd even offered her shelter on cold winter nights, but Sarah had never accepted to stay.

"They beg for scraps, like poor Sarah," he continued. He stepped back, and for an instant both maiden and hunter stared at each other. "This is our world, Claire. For simple folk like us, it doesn't get any better."

Claire could feel the anger boiling inside her – she was smouldering with indignation and rage, and this idiot's words had struck the flint inside her. Who did he think he was to make that kind of judgement about her? With what authority?! Her social standing had nothing to do with her value as a person, and she certainly wasn't going to be cajoled into marrying a brute for the sake of convenience or to comply with social expectations!

"I may be a farm girl, Chandler," C.C. snarled, "but I am not simple. And I am never going to marry you!"

Taking advantage of the fact that he'd stepped back enough to take his foot out of the doorway, she slammed it shut. She didn't move to the window to check if he had gone – it was likely he'd remain there a while. Instead, she went to her own room, again rolling her eyes in any vain hope that it would quell her annoyance.

It wasn't enough, and she tossed her book onto her bed.

"Can you imagine!" she scoffed to herself, moving to her wardrobe to open it and start going through her clothes angrily. "Me, the wife of that boorish, brainless..."

She pulled out a scarf, studying it.

" _Madame Graves_ ," she said disgustedly, before becoming mocking as she put the garment over her head like a headscarf, twirling this way and that in her mirror. "Oh, can't you just see it now? Madame Graves, _Chandler Graves' little wife_...!"

With a loud cry of "ugh!" she threw the scarf back into the wardrobe and slammed the doors.

 _Madame Graves_. That would never be her, no sir.

She wanted far more than that. She wanted adventure, and someone who understood that. She wanted to go places and see things, not be stuck in the provincial life she found herself in!

She stalked back to her bed, snatched up the book, and flung herself onto the mattress, opening it up and starting to read.

She wanted far more than everyone else seemed to have planned for her.

* * *

"It's alright, Philippe, it's alright," Stewart murmured to his horse, who was just as unsure of the path they'd taken as his owner was. They'd mistakenly taken a detour, and Stewart was struggling to find the way back to the main road. Night had already fallen, and everything around him was pitch-dark. The road he'd ventured into seemed to be endless and, despite being in the warm months of June, there was a chill in the air that was making him shiver.

The road ahead seemed as deserted and gloomy as the woods that it crossed, and to make matter worse, there was a storm coming. He could hear it in the distance...

It wasn't long until Stewart found himself in front of a forked trail. There was an old oak tree in between the two paths; one of them looked clearer and more secure, whereas the other seemed to go deeper into the forest and it was lined with crooked trees and branches.

"Hm... yes, we can go that way," Stewart spoke mostly to himself, pulling the reins across Philippe's neck and steering to the left, towards the more inviting path.

Just as the horse began to trot, however, a sudden lighting struck the tree, causing one of its branches to fall and cover the entrance to the leftward path.

Now there was no choice but to go down the other one...

He wasn't exactly sure about it, but he needed to get to the market, both to sell his products and to get a rose for his beloved Claire.

"Oh well," he said, steering to the right. "One path closes, another one opens."

The horse neighed in protest, but he obeyed his master nonetheless. As they rode deeper and deeper into the woods, the cold became impossible to ignore, and Philippe was eventually startled when his hoofs found themselves buried underneath something whitish and cold.

"It's alright, boy," Stewart soothed him. "It is just a bit of snow in... _June_?!"

But it couldn't be! It was impossible, surely? Perhaps the sun had yet to reach the forest floor here, and thaw the rest of the winter away?

 _Unlikely_ , but it was what he was going to keep telling himself, if only to remain composed.

Taking in a deep breath, he took a firm hold of Philippe's reins, back in control.

"Mind your step, it's slippery," he murmured, patting the horse's neck.

They were going to get through this. It had to join back up to the other pathway sooner or later.

The minutes passed like hours as they wandered ever deeper into the woods. Stewart had no way of telling whether it was day or night, or if the darkness ahead was merely trees and foliage. But he did get the feeling that he was being watched.

It didn't let up the further they went – even the slightest snapping of branches around him made Stewart jolt, and all he could think of was getting through. Getting to the market, and of buying a rose for his Claire...

All he had in the world...

Since his wife's death, Claire had become his _raison d'être_ – she gave purpose to his life. She was not only beautiful on the outside, but on the inside as well. And even if she had a penchant for delivering sarcastic remarks, she was a kindly spirit and a dutiful daughter who helped him out with everything she could.

She deserved a lot more than he could give her, but there weren't many opportunities in their village. He knew that she was unhappy in the village – God knows he disliked it as well – but going back to Paris was completely out of the question. Villeneuve, unlike Paris, was safe, and if there was one thing that he was not willing to risk, it was his daughter's safety. He was going to protect her, no matter the cost. He wasn't going to fail her like he'd failed his beautiful wife…

He missed her dearly, and even if nearly sixteen years had gone past since her passing, he still couldn't bring himself to mention her name. It was too painful…

Berenice had been the love of his life, and having lost her so soon was still an open wound. He remembered nearly giving in to despair when the doctor had told him that there was nothing else to do. That there was no more hope. He hadn't wanted to accept it, but he couldn't simply turn a blind eye to the fact that his wife was dying. Seeing her lying on a bed, agonising and in pain, had shattered him – he'd simply fallen to pieces. There had been no trace of the young and lively woman he'd married. He remembered being sat by her side, promising that he would take care of their girls, promising that everything would be all right.

But she'd known that things weren't going to be all right. She'd known she was dying.

Berenice's last wish was for them to leave Paris – to run away from the plague – so Stewart had taken the all money that he had in the house, and he and his family had taken off for the countryside. They'd taken only the essential when they'd left their fortune and their life in Paris behind. Claire was five years old at the time, while his eldest, Danielle, was ten years old.

Once in the village, he had not sought to remarry. He knew no one would be able to replace Berenice. Still, there were some nights when the loneliness got the best of him and he allowed himself to long for the feeling of his wife's body against his, even if he knew longing wouldn't bring his wife back.

He didn't know why he was feeling so melancholy – maybe the cause was the loneliness of the woods which reminded him of the loneliness in his heart and in his bed. A cruel reminder of the void left by Beatrice's untimely death.

"I wish you were here, my love," he murmured, glancing at his wedding band, which he'd never taken off. "Here with me, and with our Claire..."

The answer to his spoken thought, however, was a menacing growl and the sound of paws impacting against the snow.

 _Wolves!_

A pack of them, surrounding both him and Philippe.

Philippe couldn't be calmed then – not by his words, not when confronted with advancing predators, snarling and snapping. The horse reared in fright, and took off into the forest. Stewart clung on desperately, just about managing to steer the reins enough to keep them from becoming completely lost in the forest and sticking to the path. No matter how much it seemed like a bad idea now.

"Go, go, Philippe!" he urged, checking behind him momentarily. The wolves had given chase. "Come on! We can outrun them, old friend!"

He didn't know if the horse was listening, or could even understand, but Philippe did seem to start hurrying even faster. Stewart could still hear the wolves behind – further away, but still there. But there seemed to be something ahead, along the path, over a bridge.

It looked like...the walls of a castle?

A castle meant shelter. And people, who could give directions!

They were safe if they could get there!

He flicked the reins encouragingly, "Come on, Philippe! Go! Go, go!"

Miraculously, the horse did as he was told, and ran towards the castle gate. Stewart checked over his shoulder, watching as the wolves seemed to give up the chase as they went over the bridge, and crossed into the courtyard...

There weren't many lights coming from inside the castle, and oddly enough, it seemed deserted. There were no guards in sight nor it looked like that there were any servants in the premises, which was unusual judging by the impressive size of the palace. When he got to the courtyard, he spotted a pen and two large containers filled with hay and water just a few meters ahead of him, so he guided his tired horse to them and dismounted. It was a blessing that he'd managed to undo Philippe from the cart, for if not the wolves would have gotten to them if Philippe had remained attached to it.

"You are all set, my old friend," he murmured, patting the horse's neck. "You stay here while I go pay my respects to our unwitting host, whoever that may be."

"Thank you," said a voice, making Stewart jump.

The inventor looked around frantically, hoping to find the source of the voice, but the courtyard was just as deserted as when he'd entered.

"Hello?" he called out, but no one answered.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small shadow moving – dashing was more the word – towards the castle's doors, which appeared to have opened on their own...

Feeling unsure but at the same time being aware that he needed refuge, Stewart walked over to the doors, praying for there being someone in the castle who would be able to help him.

"Hello?" he called again, stepping into what appeared to once have been a lavish and luxurious castle; now it looked run down and neglected, not to mention the eerie and deeply unsettling aura that seemed to float around him. The only light that could be seen came from the embers in fireplace, which was flanked on each side by a plush armchair. Despite the obvious signs that someone lived there, the place practically screamed abandonment. Spider webs seemed to be a decorative touch for they were everywhere – adorning the dusty furniture, lacing the tall marble walls and even hanging from the unlit chandeliers.

Figuring he had no other choice but to advance, Stewart gave a few paces, gulped and spoke: "Sorry to intrude, I'm just a traveller, seeking shelter from the storm. Sorry to disturb you."

He waited a few moments, but again, there was no answer.

"Anyone home?" Anyone awake?"

 _Silence._

"He must have lost his way in the woods!" he could have sworn a voice hissed.

Stewart spun on the spot towards the direction of the voice, but there was nothing there.

Nothing but a large mantle with a clock and a candelabra on it...

He turned back. It must have been coming from somewhere else.

"Shut up, you idiot!"

There it was again! Still from the same area!

He had to get another look. A closer one. Even if there really was no one there and he was just hearing things, his curiosity for all things mechanical was getting the better of him. And come closer he did, to pick the little timepiece up. The clock was exquisite in all its workings – as complex in its workings, he dared say, as a human body!

"Hm..." he mused aloud, eyes wandering over all the parts, from the face to the cogs. "Beautiful!"

Next it was the candelabra's turn to be examined. Again, it was as wonderfully and brilliantly made as the clock. Whomever had made all of this was a master craftsman of the highest order!

"Extraordinary," he replaced it back on the mantle, and turned away again.

And so, Stewart went back to admiring the upholstery and the different ornaments that lay in the room. Most of them looked ancient, but only a few of them had been crafted with as much detail as the clock and the candelabra.

"A man of taste," one of the voices muttered.

"He was talking about me..." the other voice retorted, a venomous edge to his severe voice.

Stewart, now tired of the voices' games (and fearing that maybe it was the tiredness that was making him hear things), took a deep breath and continued his way without even looking in the direction of the voices.

"Well, wherever you are... I am just going to warm myself by the fire," the inventor announced and walked over to the fireplace. The flames were small, but that didn't make them any less comforting; he could feel the cold slowly melting away from his body, and he allowed himself to briefly close his eyes. He only reopened them when he decided to take a seat on one of the comfortable armchairs. His body was aching from the long trip, so a short rest was in order. The peace was short lived, though, for he was disconcerted to find a seemingly fresh cup of tea lying on the coffee table by his side. How had it gotten there?! Had he nodded off and someone had left it there for when he'd woken up?

This place was starting to put him on edge...

The teacup lay on top of a matching saucer, and they'd also left a small cream jug, a covered sugar bowl and a slop bowl. He noticed that the small teacup was chipped, but obviating that it was delicate and incredibly beautiful. It appeared to be of the finest porcelain, and it had fine details in gold. The moment the smell of fine tea wafted into his nostrils, Stewart felt a wave of peace and comfort penetrating his body and seeping into his very soul – God knows he needed it after his ordeal!

Not being able to resist the temptation, he took a small sip and smiled contentedly to himself as the warm liquid made its way down his throat.

"Ah, that's much better..." he murmured, closing his eyes and resting against the back of the armchair.

"Thank you!" a small voice replied. "Oh! Yikes… Fran said I wasn't supposed to move, because it might be scary..."

And he started, his eyes popping open as he leaped back in the chair some. That voice had come from right in front of him! But it couldn't have...the only thing he could see was the teacup...

The teacup, which in its gold leaf, appeared to have a tiny... _patterned...face_...?!

"Sorry," the cup murmured.

It took all his willpower for Stewart not to scream right then and there. Instead he swallowed, nodded stiffly, and assumed a smile.

"It's...it's alright," he said, rising shakily from his seat and settling the cup back on the table. "I, uh...I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality, but...I really must be going!"

After giving a few uneven steps, something inside him clicked and he turned and ran, tripping over the leg of the chair but still managing to scramble away, speeding for the door he'd entered by. He couldn't think about anything else apart from getting out of there as soon as possible. He had no clue of what was going on, but whatever it was, it had no logical explanation and therefore he wanted nothing to do with it.

He thanked the heavens when he spotted his horse waiting for hem; it was ironic that the animal was a lot calmer than him. Well... he hadn't seen talking china, that was for certain!

"Come on, Philippe!" he nearly screamed as he hopped onto the saddle, "Let's go!"

Stewart gently kicked the horse's sides with his heels and Philippe immediately took off for the open gates, much to Stewart's relief. But just as he was about to leave the palace for good, something caught his eye – rosebushes! And the most beautiful rosebushes he'd ever seen at that. He knew he wouldn't be able to get to Paris in time, which meant he wouldn't be able to get a rose for Claire, and that was completely unacceptable in his eyes.

"Roses! I promised Claire a rose," he muttered to himself as he pulled the reins and jumped off the horse.

It would be just a moment, he though as he wandered over to the bushes. He'd take the rose and he'd be on his way home, back to safety and back to his child. One rose in particular stuck out – it had caught his eye almost immediately! It had the deepest red colour he'd ever seen, and it was practically devoid of thorns. He admired it for a second before breaking it off the bush.

"There," he nodded in triumph, backing away to turn back towards Philippe.

But he never made it there, because a huge shadow fell over him and a deafening roar filled the night air, terrifying the horse into bolting.

Stewart couldn't stop himself from screaming this time.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter 2_**

The gentle morning sun trickled into the room through the panelled window opposite to Claire's bed, bathing the room in a soft, golden light. It served to wake Claire up as well – she had deliberately positioned her bed in its actual position so that the sun would always shine on her face and act as a sort of natural alarm clock. Being a restless spirit by nature, it didn't take long for Claire to feel the pull of the new day, calling for her to make good use of it.

After having practically jumped out of bed, Claire quickly put on her day clothes, had a small breakfast and went about her inside chores without a care. As her body mindlessly repeated well-automatized motions around the house, Claire's mind wandered, allowing itself to get lost in happy and unimportant thoughts; despite her reputation of always being distracted, seldom did Claire allow her thoughts to drift unbridled, for in doing so she had a penchant of indulging in a rather toxic habit: thinking about her days in Paris. Not wanting to become melancholy so early in the morning, she forced herself to not think about Paris per se, but rather to think about her father returning from the market, carrying with him a gorgeous rose and new anecdotes to tell her.

But no matter how hard she tried, her memories from Paris never left her mind entirely – they were always there, hiding in the shadows of her mind, waiting for the perfect occasion to stealthily waltz back into her daily thoughts. They nurtured the hope that, someday, she'd be able to pluck up the courage to ask her father if she could accompany him in his journey to the grand European capital. If only to see it one more time…

It was strange… craving to go back to a place that she considered home, but at the same time having little (yet precious) memories of said city. Paris held only happy memories, whereas her arrival and posterior life in Villeneuve had been… well… unpleasant, to say the least. She was aware that there was no sense in bleating about her current residing place, but sometimes she allowed herself to silently complain. She tried not to worry her father, but he was anything but daft or imperceptive; he knew she detested the village – so did he, for that matter – but the fear of something happening to her was enough for him to choose to remain in this dreary town.

When her mother died, something inside her father died alongside her. He'd been overborne by grief, but he'd held it together for Claire and her sister. There was no denying that it had changed him and that he was prone to being overprotective, which Claire couldn't help but resent – she loved her father, not to get her wrong, but sometimes, his overprotectiveness was a restrain to her curious and adventurous nature.

The sudden sound of hooves – Phillipe's hooves, she presumed – impacting against the ground outside her home roused Claire from her musings, but it was only when she went outside that she discovered there was any problem.

Namely, a cart-less Philippe stood by the water pump, and her father nowhere in sight.

That was odd to the point of being unsettling. Usually he didn't arrive this early, and the cart would be there, and he would have come in to greet her and ask if there was any breakfast left to be had. But the entire street around the house – around all the nearby houses – was empty. No one was about yet, not even Sarah.

She could feel herself starting to panic. Had he fallen from the horse? Was he hurt, out there on the pathway somewhere?

She turned to the horse, grabbing hold of his rein.

"Philippe, what happened?" she was on the brink of demanding answers, even if she knew she wouldn't get any. "Where's Papa?"

The horse neighed, and shook his head, almost as if gesturing for Claire to get onto the saddle. He clearly was trying to communicate with her (in a sense) – Philippe was an exceptionally smart horse, that's why her father had bought him in the first place.

"Take me to him!" Claire exclaimed as she mounted her father's horse, who immediately took off towards the nearby woods.

The road he took was unfamiliar and gloomy, but even if she was scared, she wasn't going to turn back – not when her father needed her. Her worry only worsened when she spotted the remnants of her father's cart; the music boxes were broken and scattered around it...

Soon enough, she reached the courtyard of an imposing castle, completely covered in snow and its tenebrous gargoyles appeared to be glaring down at her. Had she not been so worried for her father, the sight of snow in June would have left her completely aghast and she would have noticed the grotesque statues around her, but her finding her father was foremost in her mind.

Unbeknownst to her, two figures were watching her from the distance.

A talking candelabra and a mantle clock to be more precise.

"Look, Maxwell, a beautiful girl!" said the candelabra, pressing his little golden face against the window.

"Yes, I can see it's a girl, Noel. I've lost my hands, not my eyes," Maxwell replied grumpily – the whole business with the first intruder had his Master in a foul mood, and by extension, the mantle clock was in a foul mood as well.

"What if she is the one... the one that will break the spell?" cried out the candelabra, not being able to help the small, hopeful smile that graced his factions.

Maxwell pursed his lips and jumped off the banister and towards the floor. He doubted anyone would be able to lift the spell, especially such a beautiful creature as the woman currently running through the main doors.

"Papa! Where are you?!" Claire called, frantically looking around for something that hinted her father's whereabouts.

"What on Earth…?" Maxwell murmured, narrowing his eyes at the girl, who upon hearing a booming cough coming from a nearby prison cell, turned on her heel and took off towards the source of the noise. The intruder, Maxwell and Noel knew.

But wait… had she just called for her… _father_?

 _Oh God…_

The first intruder was her father!

"Let's follow her!" Noel said, running behind the girl.

"No, we must stop her!" Maxwell cried out as he trotted along behind Noel, who didn't seem to be listening to anything that the mantle clock was saying, "Noel, we have to stop her!"

God knows they had to, for if their Master found her before they did, the consequences would be dire.

* * *

"Papa!" called a familiar voice, waking Stewart from his uneasy slumber. His body ached from having spent the night in a bed of hay, at the mercy of the freezing gushes of wind billowing through the open window of his prison. He barely had the energy to move – after all, he hadn't been fed the night before – but he somehow managed to sit up and look around his cold, dusty cellar. It must have been a dream… a dream of a voice that sounded like his Claire.

And suddenly – "Papa! Where are you?!"

The voice was definitely not a dream, and it definitely sounded like his daughter. But how could it be? She wouldn't – shouldn't – come to this wretched place!

"Papa, is that you?!" the voice came again, closer and more worried.

It was her! She was there!

He flew to the bars of the cell, clutching at them just as his daughter did from the other side, "Claire!"

She could only grab for her father's hands – the hands that had held hers for so many years, now desperately clinging to the bars of a cage that separated them. And he had been travelling too long in the cold, only to end up in a prison that had no more warmth than the outside did. His hands were freezing.

She needed to get him out of there. Right away.

"Your hands are ice," she told him, tugging momentarily at his sleeve and then releasing him to take a look at the lock on the door. "We need to get you home."

Stewart reached through the bars and stopped her hands from reaching the lock, giving her a serious look.

"Claire, you must leave here at once!"

Claire's eyebrows knitted together. Why did he seem afraid? Why did it sound like he wanted her to leave without him?

"This castle is alive," he near-shouted. "Now go, before he finds you!"

That cleared nothing up for Claire; if anything, it made her more confused.

"Who?"

"The monster," her father whispered, clutching at her hands once again. "Go... please... or he will– "

"Who's there?" a deep, terrifying voice growled from within the depths of the darkness that enshrouded the gloomy prison. Although it had startled her, Claire wasn't one to cower in fear in the face of adversity – she was fearless, like her mother had once been. So, putting on a brave face, she got back to her feet and turned in the direction of the menacing voice.

"Who are you?" she rebuked, receiving a ferocious and animal-like growl as an answer.

"Who are you?!" asked the voice. Its owner was coming closer to her, for C.C. could see a silhouette lumbering towards her.

"I've come for my father," Claire replied, her voice sounding like steel.

"Your father is a thief!" the creature snarled, and moved even closer, but never close enough for her to see him. Or... well…it.

"Liar!" she cried out.

"He stole a rose!"

Claire felt the breath catching in her throat... God... he had been incarcerated because... because he was looking for a rose to gift her! All of this was her fault! She looked back at her poor and tired father and gulped, letting her vulnerability show just a little.

"I asked for the rose," she said, "Punish me, not him."

"Claire, no!" her father cried out. "When he said that he would punish me, he meant forever!"

The panic in his voice fell away after that, to sound more sorrowful.

"Apparently, that's what happens around here, when you pick a flower. You're kept, forever."

Forever. This...creature, lurking and stalking back there in the shadows, intended to keep her father forever because he stole a rose?! Not even stole. He hadn't managed to remove it from the property, therefore it wasn't even technically stolen! She snapped her head towards where the great shadow was still moving in the dark, and she addressed it.

"A life sentence, for a rose?" she asked. " _Really_?"

"Why not really?!" the shadow snapped. "I received eternal damnation for one!"

Eternal damnation? _For a rose_? What did that mean?

"I am merely locking him away," the shadow continued. "Now, do you still wish to take your father's place?"

Of course she intended to. That was already decided. Her father would go back to the village, and be well again, and she would become this...thing's prisoner, forever.

And she would put up with it, because her Papa would be safe.

But she intended to see the face of her captor, before agreeing to anything.

"Come into the light," she said. She wanted it to sound like an order, but couldn't. For even if she was willing to give her freedom in exchange for her father's, the prospect of being a prisoner for the rest of her life weighed down on her shoulders, like a titanic burden.

But she had to stay strong.

She had to be brave.

Like her mother would have been.

Somehow (and much to her surprise) her words were enough to make the shadow before her come into the light; she had to make a gargantuan effort not to scream the moment he saw the creature that was now towering over her. It was a beast! The most heinous beast she had ever seen. The creature was a sort of chimera – he had the head structure and horns of a buffalo, the arms and body of a bear, the jaws, teeth, and mane of a lion, the tusks of a wild boar and the legs and tail of a wolf. It reminded her of the Minotaur or a werewolf, but his eyes... his eyes were… almost _human_.

They were of a bright blue colour – so bright, in fact, that they practically shone in the dim light. They were mesmerising, and slightly off-putting as well. How could a monster have such an enthralling gaze?

It was during her close scrutiny of her soon-to-be captor that she noticed that he not only had a human-like gaze, but that he was also wearing what had once probably been fine clothes and a heavy woollen cloak. Both garments were now unkempt and ragged.

"Choose," he growled, ignoring the shock and the horror on Claire's face.

Claire felt her father reaching out for her hand once again and she tugged at it sit that she would look at him again.

"Claire, I won't let you do this," he said, panic once again evident in his voice. "I lost your mother. I won't lose you, too. Now go! Please, go!"

Claire pursed her lips and knelt in front of her father, tears streaming from her eyes. "All right, Papa, I'll leave," she whispered and looked over to the Beast. "I need a minute alone with him."

"No! You must le-"

"Are you so cold-hearted you won't allow a daughter to kiss her father goodbye?" the blonde cut across him, venom dripping from her voice. "Forever can spare a minute."

For a few unsure instants, the Beast merely glared at her for a moment, unsure of what to do. It was obvious that, naturally, he wouldn't have had any mercy, but somehow, the creature became constricted with his actions. After huffing out an angry breath, the Beast begrudgingly pulled the heavy iron lever just above the prison cell door, which opened only moments later.

"When this door closes," he warned her, "it won't open again."

But Claire wasn't listening anymore – she only had eyes and ears for her father. She practically -threw herself in his arms and caught him in a bone-crushing, which her father readily accepted before giving one back himself. They took the opportunity to breathe each other in for one last time…

"Claire, listen to me," her father said to her ear as he stroked her golden locks, "It's all right. Go. Live your life and forget me."

Claire pulled away, her face contorting in pain as the tears slid down her cheeks. "Forget you? Everything I am, is because of you!"

He gave his child a tired smile and cupped her cheek, like he'd done since she was a little girl, "I will be fine, I promise," he murmured, knowing deep within himself that he was lying, "Don't be afraid, leave me and live your life…"

He pulled her back to him and cradled her in his arms, "I love you Claire."

"I love you too, Papa," she murmured into his ear before pulling away, taking care to stand just behind her father so that he would be closer to the wall than she was.

It was time to act.

Now or never.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and gave them one last squeeze, "I am not afraid. I will escape, I promise."

Before her father had time to react to her words, Claire pushed his father out of the cell and slammed the door shut. The heavy clunk of the door locking came only seconds later.

It was done.

"No, Claire, what are you doing?!" Stewart shouted, scrambling to his feet and trying with all his might to open the door to the cell again.

But she held firm. If only the same could be said of her tears.

"I'm sorry, Papa," she said. "Go! Run!"

Stewart shook his head wordlessly, and tried again with all his might to open the door. But the Beast put his own paw over it, holding it shut.

"Leave," he snarled the command. "While I still allow it."

"I will not leave my daughter!" Stewart declared.

"She took your place!" the Beast argued back.

"He's my father, of course I did!" Claire yelled, no longer caring about being terrified when this creature was shouting at Stewart.

"He's a fool, and so are you," the Beast growled. "You've paid the price. And now he must leave."

Without another word, the Beast grabbed Stewart by the shoulder, practically dragging him across the floor to what Claire presumed was the exit. The way out she would never know. Because she had allowed her father to take it instead.

"Claire!" her father called out to her as he went.

She reached out to him in return, "Papa!"

But the Beast had no mercy, and he continued to drag her father out of the castle as Stewart desperately called out for her. Maybe it was a good thing that her father was now out of sight, for she couldn't hold her tears any longer, and she fell to the floor, sobbing, defeated and heartbroken.

She curled up in a ball on top of the hay that still held her father's smell, and she wrapped her cloak around her to keep herself warm, trying to start comprehending that this was her new reality – would be her reality for the rest of her days – but as unkind and unpleasant as it was, she didn't regret having saved her father. He had given his life for her, now it was her time to make amends for his love and protection. Besides, she'd try and find a way to go back to him, somehow...

Someday...

"Uh, excuse me, mademoiselle," a gentler voice suddenly came from outside the door. "Forgive my intrusion, but I've come to escort you to your room."

C.C.'s head snapped up, in search of her interlocutor, but she found no one...

"My room?" she asked, hoping that this new person would come into view if she kept talking to him. "But I thought..."

"Oh, don't listen to him," the voice said with a chuckle before a heavy clunk was heard and the door to the prison cell opened. "He likes to be dramatic, that's all."

With unsure steps, Claire stepped out of the prison cell and looked around her, but once again the corridors appeared to be empty except for a… golden candelabra? How had that gotten there?

"Where are you?!" she called out, taking the candelabra in her hand and sticking it in the darkest direction, hoping to find this mysterious "saviour".

"Right here, mademoiselle," said a voice right by her side.

A voice that was coming from the candelabra, which – Good grief, had she gone insane already? – appeared to have a face... and it also appeared to be… talking.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle!" the Candelabra spoke again. "My name is Noel, and I-"

The talking piece of furniture was cut off by Claire's loud scream. She immediately dropped the candelabra and pressed her back against the walk behind her, trying to put as much distance as possible between her and the candelabra.

"Y-you... you can talk!" she gasped. "Why the hell can a candelabra talk?!"

"Why, of course he can talk!" came another (slightly more annoyed) voice from behind her. It also had a clearly distinguishable British accent. "It's the only thing he does!"

A beautiful clock walked – _walked!_ – to stand by the candelabra and bowed to her.

"I am Maxwell Sheffield, Mademoiselle, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintances."

"L-likewise," she choked out. "I am Chastity-Claire Babcock, but you may call me Claire."

"A marvellous name indeed," the candelabra... _beamed_? "Now, if you will please follow me, we can-"

"Escort her back into the cell," the clock that had introduced itself as Maxwell interrupted sharply, marching towards the candelabra. "I am the head of this household, Noel, and I am demanding that she go back."

"Now really, Maxwell; what do you want to be for the rest of your life – a man, or a mantle clock?" Noel folded his metallic arms over. "The Master left, you just saw him go yourself. We're fine."

He turned his little golden face up towards Claire.

"Ready, miss?"

Well...she certainly didn't want to spend however long she was going to be here right there in that cell. If she was going to be there forever, she wanted to be as comfortable as possible. So, she slowly peeled herself away from the wall, coming hesitantly towards them. She could only hope that wherever they were taking her, it was a lot warmer than where they currently were!

"Trust me," Noel said again, beginning to guide her through an intricate network of corridors that eventually led back to the entrance hall. Just a little bit ahead of them, Claire spotted a grand staircase that divided into two smaller stairways that went in opposite directions – one to the left, and the other one to the right.

They climbed up the rightward stairwell, and C.C. had the feeling her two escorts were in a hurry to get her as far away from the other stairway as possible.

"Well, Mademoiselle, your rooms will be in the East wing. Consider this castle as your new home – you can go anywhere, except the west wing," explained Noel as they walked down a carpeted hallway, lined by dozens of doors that, Claire supposed, were the different rooms of the palace.

"What's in with the west wing?" she asked, coming to a halt before a pair of imposing, oak doors.

"Oh nothing!" Maxwell said with affected nonchalance. "We use it as storage space."

"Oui... storage space," Noel supported Maxwell, sounding just like his friend, "You shouldn't worry about it, and if you need anything consider me at your service."

The candelabra turned to face her again and gave her a smile.

"Well here we are! This is your room."

The moment the doors opened, Claire could barely remain standing. Just before her, there was the most lavish and comfortable room she had ever seen! She had little recollection of her grand house back in Paris, but she was sure that she had never seen something like this before! The ceiling was incredibly high and wonderfully decorated with allegories to the actions of different monarchs of France. The tall panelled walls were painted in a beautiful pastel blue tone, and they had details in gold. There also was an enormous canopied, four-poster bed against the wall in front of her, whereas to her right there were a vanity and a closet. There was also a small desk opposite to the vanity, and a blue chaise lounge sat before an enormous window that gave to the Eastern gardens.

"It's modest, but comfortable," Noel said, beckoning for her to follow him into the room.

"It's beautiful," Claire wandered around, eyes taking in everything she saw in complete wonder.

"But of course! The Master wanted you to have the finest room in the castle," using a tassel from a curtain, Noel swung himself into the air and he landed on the bed. His impact sent a cloud of dust into the air, and he coughed, spluttering some.

"Oh dear," came a worried voice from the corner.

Claire's eyes shot to it – instead of seeing the middle-aged to older woman who's voice she heard, she saw only a wardrobe lean over slightly to check on the candelabra.

Because _of course_ all the furniture was alive. How stupid of her to think otherwise.

"Enchanté, Mademoiselle," the wardrobe greeted her happily.

"We were not expecting guests," Noel picked himself up.

"Lucky for you, I can make this place spotless in no time!" called a cheerful voice from the door.

A voice which seemed to belong to a feather duster, shaped like a peacock, which flew into the room and started dusting at the windows and furniture.

Noel watched on proudly, "Ah, Plumet. You are a credit to your profession, and to so many other things as well...!"

"You are incorrigible, Noel," Plumet fluttered lightly down to land on the bed next to him, and was immediately caught in an embrace by the candelabra. If the duster could have frowned, Claire thought he would have. "This plan of yours is dangerous, mon cher."

"I would risk anything to kiss you again, my love," Noel replied, sounding sad underneath his bold claim.

"And that is why I have been burned by you before," Plumet told him, his own voice just as mournful. "We must be strong."

"How can I be strong when you make me so weak?" Noel tried to lean his head in towards Plumet's.

But, even if she felt like maybe she was interrupting something, Claire couldn't entirely contain herself. She had too many questions which needed answering and they couldn't wait.

Not after having just seen a feather duster talking!

"Is everything in here alive?" she asked, moving across to what appeared to be a dressing table, and she picked up a brush which she found there in the dust. "Hello...what's your name?"

Noel released Plumet and coughed awkwardly.

"Um...that is just a hairbrush," he said.

Feeling a little embarrassed, she replaced it, "Oh..."

Noel shook his head and waved her back towards the bed and the wardrobe, "Never mind, come back this way and I can introduce you properly to Madame Sylvia de Garderobe!"

She did as she was told, and went back to the wardrobe that had spoken to her before. Noel cleared his throat, and gestured back and forth between them.

"Madame de Garderobe, this is Mademoiselle Claire Babcock; she will be staying with us and you are to dress her," he said. "Mademoiselle Claire, this is Madame Sylvia de Garderobe; a great seamstress."

"When she can stay awake," came a voice from the door.

Claire's head snapped to it. Until she looked down to the floor, she saw nothing – Maxwell had just made it to the room.

She wouldn't have thought it possible for a clock to look annoyed, but it was obvious that Maxwell was displeased. It almost looked like his brow was furrowed – well, like the ornate decorations that resembled eyebrows were furrowed...

"Maxwell, a diva needs her sleep!" a sudden (and very nasal) voice said. It was coming from the wardrobe! Now that the panelled doors were open, Claire could distinguish a sort of humanoid face in it, and the ornate golden handles on its side resembled a pair of arms...

"A woman!" the wardrobe exclaimed, and wrapped her metallic arms around her. She then pulled away (if that was possible), tipped her chin upwards and carefully studied her face.

"Hm... gorgeous eyes, proud face... perfect canvas!" Madame Sylvia said with a peal of laughter. "I will find you something worthy of a princess!"

"But I am not a princess," Claire protested, attempting to get away from the ecstatic piece of furniture, who was going into raptures about the prospect of dressing her. "I am a-"

"Hush, girl," the wardrobe interrupted her. "Now let's see... what have I got in my drawers?

Lengths and lengths of cloth and clothes began to fly outwards from her, wrapping themselves around Claire and obscuring her view.

"Chester, come help Mama!" Sylvia called out at some point.

After a second or two, from between the folds of the fabric, Claire saw a footstool...a barking footstool...bound into the room and start to excitedly greet both Sylvia and herself...

It only added to the chaos, really.

Claire's cries of protest were muffled by all the material, and she was kept preoccupied by trying to struggle out of it so she could breathe, but eventually the onslaught of fashion seemed to be over.

Well, with a final finishing touch of a wig lightly being placed on top of her head, that was.

"Subtle, understated..." Sylvia sounded very proud of herself. "I love it!"

Claire wasn't so sure...nothing about this... _creation_...was quite her.

Another, sudden voice was then heard in the room in the room. Although it sounded just as nasal as the wardrobe's, it was also more gentle and less... overexcited. "I think we can think of something better than this."

Claire turned to find a tea trolley wheeling into the room. No one was pushing it, and the kettle on top of it was... moving?!

God... this was madness!

"Oh, Fran, why do ya have ta ruin my fun?" the wardrobe protested, crossing her arms over her 'chest'.

"I am not ruining the fun, Ma, but maybe our guest will be more comfortable in something else," the kettle – who Claire supposed was called Fran – said.

"She looks funny!" said a small teacup, skipping behind the teapot. The dainty thing sounded like a little girl and it was chipped on its side.

"Gracie!" admonished Maxwell.

"Sorry Dad," the cup giggled, "But I was only talking about the clothes! She is really pretty!"

"Well, at least that's something we can all agree on," Fran said, peering up at Claire. "What's yer name, honey?"

"Um...Chastity-Claire," she took the wig from her head and held it in her hands, unsure of where to put it. "But please, just call me Claire."

Fran smiled, "A beautiful name suiting a beautiful lady. So now, if Gracie an' Ma would care to give me a hand, figuratively speaking, we can give her a dress to match!"

She then turned to Maxwell, Noel and Plumet, who had been watching this all unfold.

"Unless you gentlemen feel like you may input something useful into this, you are dismissed."

Being a clock, Maxwell couldn't very well puff out his chest in indignation, but Claire thought she saw the area where his chest would be swell, like he was still trying.

"Sweetheart, I am the head of this household," he sounded like he was warning her. "And I say when-"

"When you have nothing useful to do in a room, you leave it to those who do," Fran finished firmly. "Now there must be something else you can be getting on with?"

There was a moment of silence as teapot and mantle clock stared each other down. Claire looked back and forth between them, wondering who would break first.

Eventually, Maxwell turned to Noel and Plumet, "Alright, gentlemen. As my wife has just said, I believe our work is done here; perhaps we should return to our duties elsewhere in the castle?"

Both Noel and Plumet shared a mischievous smile and nodded. They wanted this young lady to look her best, after all, and who better to achieve that than Fran Sheffield?

"We'll see you at dinner, Mademoiselle!" said Noel as he, Maxwell and Plumet ambled out of the room.

"Dinner?!" exclaimed Maxwell after he'd closed the door behind him. "Have you lost the plot?!"

"Mon Dieu, Sheffield, stop being so overdramatic!" Noel said, waving one of his candles in a dismissive manner. "We are half dead as it is!"

"I'd rather be half dead than provoke the Master's wrath!" the clock retorted. "What are we going to say to him?"

"The truth, of course," offered Plumet. "Just let Noel do the talking. He is good at that."

Maxwell was on the verge of hysteria. He just knew this was a bad idea... a _really_ bad idea! Their Master disliked when his orders weren't followed to the letter, and considering that as of late his already foul mood had done nothing but worsen, he could only shudder when he imagined what his reaction would to being told what was going on with his new prisoner.

"You will get us all killed!" Maxwell hissed moments before knocking on his master's door.

"Then we'll all die like men, said the candelabra, squaring himself for what was to come.

They didn't wait for an answer – most of the times their Master couldn't be bothered to give one. As usual, his rooms were submerged in darkness, the only light in sight coming from the fireplace, where a small fire burnt. They could just about distinguish the silhouette of their master standing before a small marble table near the balcony. He was glaring at the beautiful rose that lay in a crystal bell upon the table.

"Excuse the intrusion, My Lord, but dinner will be ready soon," said Noel.

There came no reply, so Noel continued.

"Your guest is being prepared and dressed for it as we speak."

That caught the Beast's attention, and the great creature turned to glare at the candelabra, the duster, and the mantle clock that was cowering behind them both.

"You're making her dinner?!" he started to march towards them, and the little objects couldn't help but back away some to avoid being stepped on.

"We thought you might appreciate the company," Noel quickly climbed up onto a chair and from there to a table surface so he could better see and be seen.

The Beast raised one paw, as though he were about to strike Noel off the table, "Appreciate the-?!"

"Master, before this continues I must assure you," Maxwell hurried to climb onto the table next to Noel. "That I had nothing to do with any of this; preparing dinner, designing a gown for her...giving her a bedroom in the East Wing."

The Beast's look became even more ferocious, if that were possible, "You...gave her a bedroom?"

Maxwell shook his head as much as he was able, gesturing to Noel, "No, no, no; _he_ did!"

Noel pursed his lips at the clock, before taking a step towards his master.

"This is true," he nodded. "But if this girl is the one who can break the spell..."

Plumet floated down onto the table, landing just behind him, "Then maybe you could start by using the dinner to charm her?"

"Good thinking, mon cher," Noel murmured to the feather duster, who smiled in return.

The Beast's quirked an eyebrow before glowering at his servants. Especially at Noel.

"That is the stupidest idea I've ever heard!" he snarled, beginning to pace. " _Charm the prisoner_? The daughter of a common thief at that! What kind of person do you think that makes her?"

"You can't judge a person by who their father is, now can you?" the candelabra contested his master's words, a sharp and even... warning?... edge to his voice.

The Beast flinched and for a moment he was silent. He continued to pace around the room, seemingly deep in thought. He was clearly fighting against something inside him, but Noel could almost see a hopeful – if uncertain– shimmer in his eyes. Eventually, his pacing came to a halt and he gave a heavy sigh.

"Do you really think she can break the spell?" he asked softly.

"I… I don't know, but it doesn't hurt to try, does it?"

His master let out another breath, and headed for the door.

"Alright. Fine," he said. He paused momentarily to point a warning, clawed finger at his servants. "I will give this one try. And no arguing from any of you if it doesn't work!"

Noel and Plumet both nodded, agreeing to the order. Maxwell, still believing himself to have nothing to do with it, remained still. Eventually, both master and servants were outside Claire's door, the latter trying to gently coach the former in the finer arts of asking a lady to dinner. They'd been doing that all the way to her room, really. Now was the time to see if what they'd said had gone in.

The Beast cleared his throat, leaned in towards the door, and reluctantly said, "You will join me for dinner. That's not a request."

Plumet flinched at the harshness, and Noel climbed up part of the alcove to murmur another instruction to his master.

" _Gently_ , Master," he felt like he was almost pleading. It wouldn't surprise him if he was. "The girl lost her father and her freedom in one day."

"That's right," Plumet piped up. "She is probably in there, scared to death. A few kinder words would not go amiss, no?"

The Beast rolled his eyes, but listened to his servants nonetheless. He cleared his throat and knocked on the door again.

"Enter!" came Fran's voice, who sounded just as cheerful as usual.

"Come on, My Lord, when you open the door and give her a debonair smile! Be kind!" Noel encouraged him.

Be kind. A debonair smile. He didn't know if that was asking too much (it most likely was), but at this point it was clear Noel was willing to try anything, Maxwell thought.

Even if it was probably hopeless.

But he followed the Beast, Noel, and Plumet inside nonetheless.

There, in the middle of the room, was Claire. She had a new dress on – one in a deep shade of red. She'd also made good use of the hairbrush that she'd tried speaking to earlier, and she looked even lovelier than previously thought.

She was positively gorgeous. She had to be the one to break the spell!

Her other dress was discarded on the bed, and Noel made a mental note to get someone to clean and repair it for her. It wouldn't do for half of her current outfits to be stained and torn from her journey! Well, maybe it would mean that they would just have to make more for her...

But that could wait. Right now, all he wanted to do was watch, and see how his master handled this.

The Beast took in a breath, "Will you...join me for dinner?"

For the longest of times, Claire merely stared at the Beast with an emotionless face. Nothing in her features gave away how she was feeling or what she was thinking, but Maxwell made a safe bet that it was nothing positive...

"Are you serious?" the young maiden deadpanned, arching an unamused eyebrow. "Are you truly asking me to have dinner with you when you are keeping me as a prisoner? Have you taken a leave of your senses?!"

 _Oh no..._

Maxwell's eyes travelled between Mademoiselle Babcock and his master, a growing panic spreading across his very soul. His master was offended, that was certain, and it didn't take much for him to lose his temper.

"I..." the Beast took a deep breath before continuing, although it was easy to see that he was close to snapping. "... told you to join me for dinner."

Claire huffed out a sardonic laugh and turned her back on her captor.

"And I said no. I'll repeat it again if you need me to. I suppose your ego and your sense of entitlement are so swollen that they are cutting off the flow of oxygen to your brain and making it difficult for you to understand me!"

The Beast jumped back some in surprise, completely thrown by her refusal.

The servants had never heard anyone speak to their master that way before...he was a prince, and when he'd been human no woman had ever – would ever – refuse a dinner with him. Especially not alone, as they would be...

This girl was stubborn.

"Well, do you believe yourself so much better than this place that you wouldn't lower yourself to eat with me?" the Beast was close to roaring at her now.

"I'd starve before I ever ate food that touched those paws," Claire snapped, nodding towards him. And she felt like she meant it, too.

But that was the final straw, as far as the Beast was concerned.

"That's it!" he shouted. "You want to starve in this place? _Be my guest_."

He turned swiftly to his servants, sending a burning look of rage at each of them.

They could only watch and wait for whatever he was about to say next.

"If she doesn't eat with me, then she doesn't eat at all," he declared. Upon receiving no answer, he growled, before storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

Noel felt like banging his head against the wall, and Maxwell – had someone asked him – would have loved to do so too. The whole thing had been a disaster! How had it occurred to them it could work?! It was obvious that this gorgeous, young woman would never fall for the enchanted prince. And if Maxwell was being honest, he suspected she'd never feel anything but hatred for their Master.

But Noel, unlike his British colleague, wasn't about to give up. This was their last chance – if Prince Niles didn't change, they would be damned for all eternity, just how the enchantress had said.

"My Lord, wait!" the candelabra called, opening the door to Claire's room and practically sprinting behind his Master.

"What are you doing?!" Maxwell, who was running behind them, hissed.

"Saving our last chance to go back to being human!" Noel replied.

They followed their master back to his quarters, begging and pleading for him to give it another chance.

"... it is your last oppo-"

"Enough!" screamed Niles, punching the wall with his paw. "She made her choice! She will starve if she won't eat with me!"

Silence followed his outburst and the Beast began to pace. It had been long since he'd felt so uneasy, and hopelessness was becoming overwhelming.

And then, almost as if the enchanted rose had perceived his distress, another petal fell.

A noise of either frustration or disgust made its way up the prince's throat, and he turned his back on it. The flower was becoming depressing to look at. Soon, it would have no petals at all. And then they would all be doomed to this life.

"Leave me," the prince ordered. There was no feeling behind the word.

But Noel and Maxwell weren't about to disobey him. That would provoke feeling behind whatever he said next. They did as he said, and together they just about managed to shut the door behind them. In the corridor, they were greeted by Plumet, who had obviously flown in to try and provide whatever assistance he could. But the moment he saw their faces, he stopped, looking at them questioningly.

"Another petal fell," Maxwell explained, starting to head sadly away.

The duster nodded, "I thought I had grown more feathers this morning. I only plucked them yesterday, too."

Noel sighed, "I know, mon cher. I grow more metallic every day, too. But we mustn't give up hope. Not while we still have time."

 _Time_...it was still time for dinner. They might have not succeeded on this attempt, but their lovely guest still required feeding, no matter what the Master said!

"That being said," he began, taking hold of one of Plumet's feathers to pull him along. "Our guest will be wanting food, no? Whether we have time or not, dinner time is a constant!"

With a nod from the duster, they took off after Maxwell.

* * *

 **AN: Hello! We hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please let us know if you did! We appreciate your reviews! Until the next chapter.**

 **H &L**


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter 3_**

Chandler Graves, heir to the biggest fortune in town and war hero, didn't like losing. As a matter of fact, he abhorred it. He was a winner – he'd always been one – hence, failure was, in his view, something foreign to him and intrinsic to lesser men to whom fate hadn't been kind.

He'd always gotten what he wanted without having to exert himself – he was the most desired man in town, the manliest stallion, the best hunter, the best fighter...

Honestly, he had no flaws whatsoever!

So why didn't Claire want him?!

Ever since he'd laid eyes on her, he'd wanted to marry her. The young maiden was absolutely gorgeous, but there was the pesky little nuisance of her being so... _well read_. In his opinion, education was overestimated – he wasn't educated, and yet he was the most successful man in town! Quite honestly, education only made women harder to woo.

Granted, there was a sort of fun in chasing her – after all, the harder to catch, the more satisfying the reward – but he was getting tired of her games. He was starting to feel that... perhaps... she truly didn't like him.

He snorted out a laugh.

 _Nah_. There was no way a woman wouldn't want him as a husband!

"Oh, Chandler, I hate to see you so miserable!" said LeFou as he handed him the beer that Chandler had asked for. "Just let her go! There are plenty of beautiful maidens in this town."

Chandler let out another snort, staring into the inn's fire, "A great hunter doesn't waste his time on rabbits."

That's all the other women in the town were, compared to her. Small prey, fit for inferior predators.

He took a gulp from the tankard LeFou had given him, looking back up at his friend.

"They wait for the hind," he finished. "And Claire is the perfect hind."

He turned back to the flames, staring into them. He supposed LeFou had thought the beer might cheer him up, but it seemed to have had the opposite effect. If she'd given up by now, he could be sat in his own rustic cabin, watching his latest kill roasting on their roaring fire and swigging a beer she'd poured for him, while their beautiful children played all around them and Claire knelt at his feet, massaging them...

A dream life; what he deserved, and no better than she could ask for.

But no. _She had to be educated_...

He heard LeFou sigh, and pull up a chair next to him.

"It really disturbs me to see you looking so down in the dumps, Chandler," he lay a hand on his shoulder. "Any man here would love to be you, you know!"

"I know," Chandler said, taking another swig of beer. "But I want Claire to want me, LeFou."

"She will, in due time," his friend insisted. "No one is better than you!"

Chandler nodded in agreement and took a bite of the stake that lay upon a plate on the table by his side. He knew all of this, of course, but it was nice to be reminded of his superiority every once in a while. After all, every god needs praising and devotees humbling themselves at their feet.

He glanced over towards where three young maidens were stood, giggling and gossiping. They'd been coquetting with him since he'd arrived to the pub, but the poor things didn't have a chance with him. Not when Claire was around.

Maybe he was proceeding in the wrong way... maybe he had to change his strategy to catch her. But what could he do?

Suddenly, his rumination was interrupted by the doors being swung open. A man ran into the inn, wailing and screaming out incoherencies. He looked haggard and his appearance was unkempt, like he'd been through an ordeal.

But wait...

Wasn't that _Claire's father_?!

"Help me! Please! Claire has been taken by a beast!" Stewart continued to scream.

 _A beast_? Is that what he'd said? What was the old man on about?

Someone had taken Claire?

Chandler rose from his seat and took a step towards him as others backed away, frightened and shocked by Stewart's continued outburst. They were often wary of the man, and this was just making them mutter and whisper to each other more.

"Monsieur Babcock," Chandler cried out, reaching out with his hands to relax Stewart. "Please, calm yourself; what's going on? Who has Claire?"

"A beast!" Stewart replied again, just as distressed as before. "A huge, horrid, monstrous beast!"

Silence

And then the other villagers began to laugh.

Well, it was a ridiculous notion – even Chandler himself couldn't hide all of his amusement. He shared a look with LeFou, before steeling himself to turn back to Stewart.

This could be his chance. If he could get the jeers of the crowd to quieten again.

Stewart could only look around at them, confused, and clearly agitated to get going somewhere, "Why are you laughing? This isn't a joke! He has her, right now, in his castle in the woods! If we follow the tracks made by the snow-"

"Snow?" someone in the crowd shouted out. " _In June_?"

The inn's patrons were practically falling over themselves, calling him crazy, and making fun of the idea of some beast living in a castle out in the woods.

"Listen to me!" he begged. "The beast is real! I have no reason to lie to you! He is real, and he has my daughter! Do you understand?!"

He looked around, helpless.

"Will no one help me?"

Chandler considered him carefully. Stewart seemed determined to convince everyone in the room that he was telling the truth. And he said that...well, whatever it actually was, had Claire. She'd probably had her nose stuck in a book, gone out walking while reading, and gotten lost in the woods, that was all. Her father had imagined everything because he was old and scared, that was all. But if he went and found her, perhaps saving her in the process, she'd have to marry him then, surely? And Stewart would be so grateful, he'd give his blessing!

He took another bold step forward, raising his hand to silence the crowd. This was it. _This_ was his way to Claire.

"Everyone stop making fun of this man at once!" he ordered. "I'll help, Stewart."

And hope brightened in Stewart's eyes as he came forward to grasp Chandler's hand.

"You will? Oh, thank you, Captain! Thank you so much!"

Chandler briefly turned back to LeFou and beckoned for him to come along as well, before turning back to Stewart.

"There is no need to thank," he said. "Now, lead us to the beast."

Stewart nearly dashed to the exit, hope swelling in his heart. He knew that Chandler wasn't the brightest bulb in the box and that he could be a bit full of himself, but he was a brave man and a fine fighter – with him by his side, he would be able to rescue his child from the beast. He shuddered to think what the beast could be doing with his Claire... he could hurt her, or even...

No. He couldn't bear to even think about that possibility. He couldn't lose Claire. Not after having lost Beatrice.

"This way, Captain!" Stewart beckoned for Chandler and LeFou to follow, "Towards the woods!"

The other two men trailed behind him, exchanging looks that ranged from amused to downright weary of the old man's ramblings. Stewart's recollection of the previous night sounded, in the best of cases, strange.

A heinous beast? A hidden castle? Snow in _June_ and _talking teacups_?

Those things were only possible in fairy tales, not in real life.

"Are you sure you want to marry into this family?" LeFou whispered to Chandler as they arrived to the point where the path bifurcated. There was a tree, like Stewart had said, but it was in perfect conditions – no indication that it had been hit by a lightning whatsoever. That didn't bode well for what the old man said being true, and Chandler raised a questioning eyebrow towards him.

"That's the tree, I'm sure of it," Stewart insisted, pointing at it like it would go back to being downed and singed at any moment. He hurried over to it, studying carefully. "But it must have resumed its upright position through...some sort of _magic_ , or other..."

The other men watched as he then scurried back to them, turning from side to side like he was deciding which way to go. It was almost sad, Chandler thought, to see the man reduced to this...a dribbling lunatic who couldn't tell fantasy from reality!

"So that means that the castle is this way!" Stewart suddenly cried, turning to head in one direction, but then stopping and turning the other way. "No! Wait! It's this way! Definitely this way!"

He started marching in the direction of the other pathway, but Chandler, having finally had enough, grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him so that the two men were face-to-face.

"Stewart!" he said sharply. "I am done playing this game of yours. There are no such things as monstrous beasts, or magic, or talking teacups! But there are wolves, frostbite, and starvation. Now where is Claire?!"The Captain took a few menacing steps towards the older man, almost as if getting ready to strike him. His temper was running short, and every minute spent following a lunatic, meant one less minute courting Claire. And if Claire was truly lost, minutes could be the difference between life and death.

"Where is she?!" he screamed again.

It was lucky that LeFou managed to take hold of his arm in the nick of time – otherwise Chandler would have hit the distressed inventor.

"Chandler, no!" LeFou pleaded as he put himself in between Stewart and Chandler. "Take deep breaths, my friend, deep breaths..."

His words didn't seem to be getting through to the livid hunter, so LeFou placed his hands on Chandler's shoulders and put some pressure on them. "Think of violence – widows, the war, men dying... _pain_."

And that did seem to cause an effect in the other man. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, flashes of his years in the war swivelling in his mind. The mere memory of the pained wails soldiers gave whenever he shot them or when he buried his sword deep within their bodies was soothing. He had to keep it together – Stewart was his way to Claire, and he had to make a good impression.

"Right... you are right..." Chandler panted, massaging his temples. "I... I am sorry for my outburst, Stewart," he said in an unsettlingly cordial voice. "Stewart, I think we should go back to the village. I am sure Claire is at home, preparing a delicious dinner for us all."

"But she is with the-"

"If you say she is with the beast one more time I will feed you to the wolves!" Chandler yelled again. It was becoming very hard to keep himself in check...

"What I meant to say is..." Chandler continued after taking another deep breath. "Claire is fine, Stewart. There are no castles or magic or-"

"Why did you help me then?" Stewart spat, cutting across Chandler. "Why did you come with me if you didn't believe me?!"

Chandler lost it at that moment.

"Because I want to marry your daughter!" he shouted, his blood once more coming to a boil.

Why couldn't this old man get it through his brain that that was what he wanted?! He tried to advance on the older man, but suddenly found himself being held back. LeFou had grabbed hold of his wrist, and was stopping him.

"Think about what you're doing, Chandler!" his friend insisted with a hiss.

That split second gave the rage a moment to cool off again, and he saw some kind of sense.

Yelling wouldn't get him anywhere, would it?

He nodded at LeFou, "You're right. You're right..."

He slipped himself out of his friend's grasp, straightened out his coat, and turned back to Stewart.

"Please, Stewart, forgive me," he returned to his most polite tone, controlling his breathing. "That was no way to speak to my future father-in-law."

And a look of shock appeared on Stewart's face.

In the silence that followed, Chandler waited with expectation. He wondered what Stewart would say and how he would say it; he'd probably burst into a great peal of joyful laughter and come forward to embrace his new son.

And then they'd go and find Claire, and because her father had insisted she'd have to marry him!

But the shock drained away from Stewart's face, to be replaced by a cold, almost stony defiance.

"You will _never_ marry my daughter," he stated.

Of course, Chandler also knew what he would do if Stewart refused to give his blessing.

He slowly crossed the last few footfalls which separated them, and punched Stewart in the face, knocking him to the ground and out cold. Stewart being unconscious didn't stop Chandler from continuing to rain punches and kicks on the poor man's body, and LeFou knew better than to try to stop him when he was in a violent frenzy. Eventually, he had to drag his friend away from the inventor. It wouldn't help them if Stewart was found beaten to death, especially seeing as the townsfolk had seen him go with them to the woods.

"Chandler, stop!" LeFou cried out when Chandler broke free of his grasp and charged against Stewart again. "You will kill him!"

Miraculously, the man stopped his onslaught and there was silence except for Chandler's laboured breathing. He took a moment to crack his bloody knuckles before turning to face LeFou.

"Grab him," he ordered, "And bring the rope."

LeFou gaped at Chandler. Surely he wasn't going to...?

"Chandler, what are we-"

"If he won't give me his blessing, then he is in my way," Chandler said coldly. He then took hold of Stewart's legs and dragged him to the enormous oak tree before them. He laid him there, making him sit ramrod straight against the trunk. "The wolves will deal with him, and then, once he is dead, Claire will have no one to turn to and she'll have to marry me."

He looked at LeFou for a few more moments, expecting him to come down and help him like he would usually do.

But instead, the smaller man looked...unsure.

"Perhaps...for the sake of exhausting all our options..." he swallowed. "We could consider a less... _gruesome_ option?"

This was the only option, as far as Chandler was concerned. Now that they'd – he refused to say "he", because that would mean he acted alone and that wouldn't do when LeFou was right there – beaten Stewart and tied him to a tree, there was no going back.

If the man somehow got free, he could tell everyone!

No. They had to let the wolves have him. And then he'd have Claire.

It would take her time, to mourn her father, but she'd get over it.

He tied one last knot, firmly securing Stewart to the tree, and got back to his feet, starting to head back to the village. He went past LeFou, stopping only briefly to bark over his shoulder.

"Are you coming, or not?"

As he continued to trudge away, he couldn't help the slight satisfaction at the sound of his friend's footsteps hurrying behind to catch up.

* * *

"Are you insane?!" Maxwell hissed, struggling to catch up with Noel, who was nearly trotting back to Mademoiselle Claire's room. "Do you know what the Master will do if he finds out we disobeyed his orders?!"

"He will blame you, I'll make sure of that," Noel said flippantly and smirked at the mantle clock. "That's why this plan is so wonderful!"

"Why, you little-"

"Will ya two stop bickering?!" came Fran's voice from a few feet ahead – she had heard them from inside the room. If she'd had arms Maxwell was sure she'd have her hands firmly planted on her hips. "All this talking will take us nowhere!"

"The only place we should we going is back to our duties!" Maxwell retorted, an extremely fed up edge to his voice.

"Oy, shush already!" Fran rolled her eyes at Maxwell. "How are we going to be human again if they don't fall in love? And they can't do that if she stays in her room!"

"I am glad we are on the same page," Noel smiled at the housekeeper.

"She will never love him, don't be foolish," Maxwell spat, crossing his arms over his chest.

"A broken clock is right two times a day, mon ami," Noel spoke without his usual joviality, giving the clock a gelid look. "But this is not one of those times."

"The way she stood up ta him, she has ta be the one!" Fran piped up in agreement with Noel. "So we have ta make that happen!"

Maxwell unfolded his arms and put them on his sides, "And just how are we supposed to do that if she won't leave her room, hm?"

"We're inviting her to dinner right now _, mon ami_ , she isn't going to stay in this one place forever," Noel went to the door, looking up to the cart where Fran was. "If you would, Madame Sheffield, go downstairs and check the courses, and then rouse your father into playing? There is no dinner without music, after all."

"I'm on it," Fran nodded, directing the cart down the corridor. "I hope there's somebody down by the dumbwaiter this time..."

She took off, and Noel grinned at Maxwell, who returned it with an unimpressed look. The candelabra trooped confidently to the door, and raised one arm to knock on the door, "Now, all that's left to do is inform Mademoiselle Claire-"

Before he could, however, the door opened, and Claire just about stopped herself from accidentally stepping on him.

"Oh," Noel beamed brightly. "There you are, my dear."

The woman looked down to the jolly Candelabra and attempted a smile. It didn't really come out as a proper smile nor it remained on her face for long, but at least she tried.

"What is going on?" she asked, glancing at the furniture moving around. "Where are you taking me?"

"To the dining room, of course!" Noel exclaimed. "It's time for dinner!"

But the woman didn't move despite his invitation – if anything she looked unsure. Like she suspected that following them anywhere out of that room was a good idea.

"But... didn't your master say that if I didn't eat with him I wouldn't eat at all?"

Although it sounded like a question, Noel could detect a slightly challenging edge to her voice – like she wanted them to give her a good reason to why she should leave her room. She had her arms crossed over her chest and one of her feet was tapping air; her body language screamed just how unsure she felt.

"Ah, people say a lot of things in anger," Noel waved a hand dismissively, never losing his smile. "It is our choice whether we listen to it or not. So, you coming Mademoiselle?"

There was a part of C.C. – a _really_ prideful part of C.C. – that didn't want to give in. She wanted to fight her captor, and eating (especially behind his back) felt like conceding defeat. However, she couldn't bring herself to refuse this either – the talking furniture were being so kind to her and they were going to feed her even if that would probably upset their master...

So could she say no to them?

It didn't seem fair.

"Hm... alright," she finally took one step outside, looking each way down the corridor. "Which way is the dining room?"

Delighted (and making sure to show that delighted face to Maxwell), Noel began to point down the hall, towards the staircase.

"Right down there, Mademoiselle, and then I will direct you from there," he then shifted on the spot a little. "If you wouldn't mind, if you carry me it will be faster to get there?"

Seeing no harm in doing that, Claire stooped down and picked him up, holding him just as a candelabra should be held. Noel didn't seem to mind, and, after Maxwell had refused to be carried down in the same fashion (citing his dignity as a reason), they made their way carefully down the stairs towards the dining room.

The room was just as grand as any other in the castle, even if it was slightly dark because it was mostly lit by the large fireplace. But Claire could see what she assumed were other servants, lining up with carts and trays (or as carts and trays, she didn't know anymore) laden with food.

She couldn't believe it was all for her, if she was honest. Even when they had been wealthy in Paris, she'd never seen anything so grand, and even the hors d'oeuvres looked like they'd feed a large party!

She couldn't help the little surprised gasp that left her lips as she studied her surroundings and the feast that lay before her. She felt undeserving of such fest – she was, after all, still a prisoner.

"It's wonderful!" she half-gasped, half-whispered. "I had never seen so much food together!"

"And it's all for you, my dear," Fran piped up as the tea trolley rolled into the dining room.

"Indeed! So now we invite you to relax," Noel jumped from her hand to the table, making a faint metallic noise as his feet impacted against the long wooden table. The silverware appeared to... _wave_ him as he strode across the table. Now his footfalls were padded by the tablecloth beneath them. She hoped she only remembered how to eat in society – it had been too long since she'd seen such fine dish wear, let alone eaten with it!

"Let us pull up a chair!" said the candelabra, and immediately something moved to C.C. and impacted against the back of her knees, making them give out underneath and she slumped down onto a comfortable, plush chair. She was started by the sort of... _straightforwardness_?

There was a piano playing in the background, and everyone looked ready for a sort of show. What could it be?

The candelabra, who'd had his back towards her, turned to face her, wearing a cheeky (if mischievous) smirk. He gestured around him with one of his metallic hands, "While the dining room proudly presents..."

Noel made a pause for effect as the melody being performed became slightly more fore.

" ... your dinner."

"Be our guest; be our guest, put our service to the test," Noel sang, stepping back to allow the dishes to start taking to the table. He snatched up Claire's napkin – which would have been the size of a bed-sheet to him – and tossed it to her. "Tie a napkin 'round your neck, chérie, and we'll provide the rest!"

Claire took the napkin and put it across her lap as the dishes carrying the food danced across the surface in front of her, and Noel continued his song.

"Soup du jour, hot hors d'oeuvres; why, we only live to serve," he took up a tray and spun to Claire, offering the food on it to her. "Try the grey stuff – it's delicious! Don't believe me? Ask the dishes!"

Claire just about managed to scrape up a finger-sized scoop of the grey paste Noel had offered her before the candelabra was off dancing again. But when she put it in her mouth, she couldn't help but admit that he was right – whatever it was, it was done to perfection!

Noel seemed to be enjoying his own show as well as he twirled and leaped over the dishes.

"They can sing, they can dance – after all, Miss, this is France! And a dinner here is never second best!"

Then he was back at Claire's side, a small booklet in his arms for her to take.

"Come on; unfold your menu, take a glance," he sang as she did as she was bid. "And then you'll be our guest. Oui, our guest. Be our guest!"

He jumped off the table onto a passing trolley that was nearly careening to the other end of the room. Claire had only realised that the fire was no longer burning in the grate and somehow the room was illuminated in an array of colourful lights as the furniture danced around her. It was quite comical, she had to admit – she couldn't believe that talking furniture was putting on a show for her! So she relaxed against the chair, and allowed herself to enjoy from the entertainment.

God knows she needed it.

"Beef ragout, cheese soufflé, Pie and pudding en flambé!" continued Noel, pointing at the different aliment when they were wheeled into the room and put on her plate. Each and every one was a delicacy – she'd never had such fine food before!

"We prepare and serve with flair – a culinary _cabaret_ ," joked the candelabra, skidding across the table and dancing with the cutlery.

"You are alone, and you are scared, but the banquet is all prepared!" Noel ran back to her, carrying a small plate filled with a delectable looking aliment, which Claire was quick to try. As usual, it was beyond delicious. Noel smiled at her, taking away the plate so that another one could be presented to her. He moved back to the centre of the table as he continued to sing, "No one's gloomy or complaining while the flatware's entertaining!"

Both saucers and dished twirled to make effect, acting as ensemble for the performance.

"We tell jokes, I do tricks with my fellow candlesticks!" the candelabra did a flawless backflip and landed on a tray behind him. "And it's all in perfect taste, that you can bet. Come on and lift your glass!"

Claire did so, laughing for what felt like the first time in millennia, and sipped at her red wine, her eyes following the candelabra as in danced and twirled and jumped around. Noel caught her eye, seeing she was enjoying herself, and grinned.

"You've won your own free pass to be our guest," he leaped back onto the main table. "If you're stressed, it's fine dining we suggest! Be our guest, be our guest, be our guest!"

Suddenly the lighting in the room took on a more bluish hue, and Noel's tone became melancholy. Claire thought he was about to make a comment because Maxwell had just made his way up onto the table, but he didn't. He put one arm over where his heart would be, as though clutching at his chest.

"Life is so unnerving for a servant who's not serving; he's not whole without a soul to wait upon," he sounded more mournful than before. He reached out dramatically towards Maxwell. "Ah, those good old days when we were useful, eh, Maxwell?"

The clock sighed, folding his arms over. Claire thought it looked like he still wasn't pleased that she was getting this kind of treatment. But his own mood wasn't stopping the celebration that was going on around him.

"Suddenly those good old days are gone," Noel continued.

He seated himself on the table, back leaning against a carafe, and he put one arm up as though covering his eyes in a woe-is-me fashion.

"Too long we've been rusting," he declared, as trays carrying puddings coming from above slipped some of their loose sugar over him, as though it was snowing. "Needing so much more than dusting! Needing exercise, a chance to use our skills! Most days we just lay around the castle, flabby, fat and lazy..."he leaped back to his feet, and the light turned bright again. "You walk in and whoops-a-daisy!" he spread his arms out wide happily.

And then he was back on his feet again, apparently checking off all the things that surrounded him, from Claire's glass to the napkins.

"It's a guest! It's a guest! Sakes alive, well I'll be blessed! Wine's been poured and thank the Lord I've had the napkins freshly pressed! With dessert, she'll want tea, and my dear that's fine with me!" sang Fran as the tea trolley wheeled over to Claire's side. She then poured a cup of perfectly brewed tea before said cup leaped onto the table, ready to be drank.

Many other cups of tea marched behind Fran, who'd jumped on the table. They made a circle around her and began a sort of choreography as Fran carefully inspected them. "While the cups do their soft-shoeing I'll be babbling I'll be brewing! I get warm, piping hot – Heaven's sake, is that a spot?! Clean it up, we want the company impressed!" she cried out before quickly gesturing for some of the napkins to come clean the smudge off a little dirty cup.

"We've got a lot to do," she turned back to Claire, who was stirring her cup of tea. "Is it a lump or two? For you our guest!"

"She's our guest!" chorused the rest of the castle's staff, who continued to sing, as the choreography became more complex – Claire just didn't know where to look! Everyone was singing and dancing and laughing... it was beautiful! She wouldn't have imagined it to be possible in this place.

"Be our guest, be our guest, our command is your request!"

Noel came along to usher some of the cups away, sliding a napkin along with his foot to wipe up after them.

"It's been years since we've had anybody here and we're obsessed," with one flick of his foot, he launched the dirty napkin into the air. It was caught by a passing trolley, which took it from the room. "With your meal, with your ease; yes indeed, we aim to please!"

Well, they were certainly doing that as far as Claire was concerned! She didn't remember having so much fun in a long time!

"While the candlelight's still glowing, let us help you; we'll keep going!" Noel cried out, ushering more foodstuffs onto the table as the dishes continued to dance tirelessly. "Course by course, one by one, 'til you shout " _Enough! I'm done!"._ Then we'll sing you off to sleep as you digest!"

He took up another spoon, dancing with it as he began to close his song.

"Tonight you'll prop your feet up, but for now let's eat up! Be our guest, be our guest, please be our guest...!"

As the last of the notes faded out, one more covered tray slid in front of the candelabra, and he lifted the lid to reveal a creme caramel to Claire.

"Pudding?" he offered.

And Claire couldn't hold her peals of laughter any longer. She nodded, wicking away a few stray tears of mirth that were gliding down her cheeks and accepted both her dessert and a spoon. Just as everything else, it was delicious! She couldn't remember the last time she'd had pudding, but this one was certainly the best one she'd ever had.

Right after she had finished with her meal, tiredness washed over her like a waterfall. She was exhausted... after the day she'd had and now that her stomach was full and the adrenaline had worn off, she only craved for her bed.

She couldn't wait to be buried underneath a fluffy duvet, relishing in the brief escape that her dreams would provide.

"This way, Mademoiselle Babcock," said Maxwell as he, Noel and Fran filed out; they were all eager to get Claire out of the dining room, least their master discovered that they'd blatantly disregarded his orders and had actually fed and entertained his prisoner.

The dining room was not far away from the entrance hall, which led to a grand staircase that forked into two. One of the staircases led to the West Wing, and the other to the East Wing, where her rooms where. No one had ever mentioned the West Wing, which made Claire wonder. What also made her wonder, was how could such nice people be forced to serve a monster! And, on top of that, they treated him kindly...

"Don't you ever want to escape this castle?" she blurted out. "Surely you are just as trapped as I am."

Fran chuckled softly and shook her head. "The Master is not as terrible as he appears. Somewhere deep in his soul there's a prince _... of a fellow_ who's just waiting to be set free."

They reached the landing where the staircase divided into two, and Claire couldn't help but feel the itch of curiosity.

"What's in the West Wing, Mrs Sheffield?" she asked.

The married couple exchanged a very brief glance which Claire couldn't help but think contained a mixture of panic and concern.

"Never mind about that, honey," Fran eventually answered, gesturing off towards her room. "It's not fer you to worry about. All you need to think about is gettin' some sleep."

"That's right," Maxwell agreed. "So, off to bed with you!"

He made an ushering gesture towards her room.

While Claire couldn't help but be put out by the way he was ordering her along, she did as she was told and went. Not that she intended to stay there, of course. They'd said nothing about her being allowed to leave the room again once she'd gone to bed for the night! No. Once they were all safely down in the kitchen, or wherever they went to sleep, she'd go and see the West Wing for herself.

It couldn't be that bad, could it?

So, late that night, when everyone and everything else in the castle seemed to be deeply asleep, Claire slipped out from her bed (having convinced Sylvia that she was too tired to get changed and would get fresh clothes in the morning), and crept towards the door.

She checked the corridor up and down – the entire place was silent.

Good. Just how she wanted it.

She made an extra effort to close the door quietly behind her, in case anyone just so happened to come by, and made her way down the corridor, towards the divide in the stairs and the West Wing. There was a door which separated it from the rest of the castle, with a heavy handle, but when Claire used both hands it was manageable. The door creaked when it opened, so she moved slowly, and eventually it was open enough for her to manoeuvre herself around it and slip inside.

It was very nearly pitch-black inside; covered in dust, and cobwebs...it was like no one had lived there for years! The rest of the castle didn't look as abandoned as this… She stepped around the broken furniture, studying everything her eye could take in.

Until she spotted something in the strange half-light, hanging on the wall.

A portrait, torn almost completely in two by something sharp.

When she pressed her fingers to it to join the pieces together, she found that it was of a young man, in fine clothing, his hair a sandy blonde, and his eyes...

Icy blue. And very familiar.

But what was lighting it? There was no candlelight in the room quite like it...

She looked around, barely being able to distinguish what the things around her were. They were but tenebrous shadows, adding to the gloomy nature of the room. But then, just a few meters away from where she was stood, upon a marble pedestal lay a beautiful crystal bell. Inside this box, there was a rose – the most beautiful rose Claire had ever seen in her life. It had a deep burgundy colour and it wasn't even inside a vase! If anything, it appeared to be floating in the crystalline structure; that's when she noticed the many fallen petals that lay, withered and forgotten, at the base of the bell.

Light seemed to be emanating from the flower. Logically, Claire was well aware of this being an impossibility, but then again in the last few hours she'd seen snow in June, become the prisoner of a beast and spoken to what should have been inanimate objects. Logic didn't really mean much anymore...

Being almost entranced by the rose, Claire slowly made her way over, something inside her compelling her to touch it. She took another moment to just observe it, trying to elucidate what was so special about it, but nothing in particular stood out. The rose looked just like any other rose, but it had an intrinsic characteristic that made it the most beautiful among flowers.

Tentatively, she neared her hand to the crystal bell and lay her fingertips against it. The jar was cold to the touch, but she could sense warmth radiating from the peculiar flower.

She needed to touch it.

"What are you doing here?!" roared the Beast – Claire had not heard him getting in.

Instinctively, she backed away from the flower and from the Beast. Claire could feel her heart in her mouth, and although she knew for a fact the Beast was going to attack her, she couldn't move. She was frozen in fear. Rooted to the spot...

"What did you do to it?!" the creature snarled, stalking towards Claire and towering over her. "You could have damned us all!"

"I- I did no-"

"Get out of here!" the Beast demanded, ramming his fist against the wall. "Get out of here, right now!"

And she did. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, bolting through the door which she had shoved open so hard it slammed into the wall. She didn't care if others around the place were asleep or not anymore. She nearly tripped and fell as she went down the stairs, but she kept going, feeling a few hot tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She just about saw Maxwell and Noel, playing chess at a table on one of the upper walkways. They stood and stared as she ran past.

"Mademoiselle, what are you doing?!" Noel exclaimed.

"I'm getting out of here!" she fired back her reply. "I can't stay here anymore!"

"Who can't stay here anymo-woah!" Fran was nearly knocked from her trolley as Claire ran past. "Hey, honey! Where are you going?! Stop!"

Claire ignored her, and kept going. The door was in sight.

"Chester!" Fran shouted out. "Chester, stop her!"

Claire heard the barking behind her. But what could a footstool do? Prop up her feet?

"Chester, no! Bad dog!" Fran scolded. "It isn't playtime, go after her!"

Claire would've smirked if she weren't still so afraid. But the dog being distracted left her a free path to open the door, and to make it out into the cold snow.

Philippe was still out there, in the gardens. No one had cared about taking him to the stables or even tying him up, but the gentle creature had remained there, waiting for his mistress. It was a blessing, really, for she wouldn't have been able to get away by foot.

With a loud cry of "Go, Philippe!" she leapt onto the saddle and snapped the reins, causing the horse to neigh and gallop away, towards the exit.

Her fear prevented her from truly realising just how late it was nor the downpour of snow – the night was pitch black and the cold was bitter and unforgiving. She was underdressed for such a weather, but she had to go... she couldn't stay.

"Faster, Philippe! Faster!" Claire cried out, digging her heels in Philippe's sides.

They didn't take long to find the path, but just when they'd reached a glade in the forest, a monstrous wolf came in their way. It wasn't alone, of course, and Claire soon found herself surrounded by hungry beasts who were growling and baring their sharp teeth at her.

She was their prey, and she had no weapons to fight them off.

For a brief instant, everything was quiet – the calm before the storm. The prelude to their lethal attack.

And then, the alpha jumped, knocking Claire off her horse. She tried to run away, even managing to get hold of a rather thick tree branch and aiming a few blows at the hungry wolves. But they were expert hunters, and soon she found herself stood before the alpha with no weapon to defend herself with – one of the wolves had yanked the tree branch from her hands. It almost felt like the creatures had the certainty that their prey had no way out.

C.C. closed her eyes the moment the alpha wolf leapt at her, ready to kill.

 _But it never came._

Instead, a deafening roar sounded in her ears, and she opened her eyes.

She knew that sound. It was unmistakable!

The Beast had come for her, and was fighting the wolves! They bit into him, scratched him and held on as they tore into his limbs, but he kept going. Every time one threw itself at him, he would hurl it away. Every time a claw or fang bit into him, he would tear back with his own, all the while snarling like an animal ten times wilder than they were.

Soon it was down to just him and the alpha. The others had fallen back to lick their wounds and would not come back to help their leader. They couldn't. The Beast was too strong, even though Claire could see he was weakened from the attack. Weakened or not, he hadn't given up shielding her yet.

He was staring the wolf in the face, almost like he was daring it to make a move.

Again, Claire could feel her heart making its way up her throat.

Which became her screaming as the wolf finally made its leap, and the Beast caught it, bellowing as he grabbed it by the throat and threw it, harder than he had thrown the others. The alpha landed in the dirt with a loud thud, and didn't move for some time. Eventually, it got up, limping, and wheezing. Whimpering and making low yelps of pain, the wolves hurried as quickly as they could into the forest, eventually becoming lost in the distance and the darkness.

The Beast was able to stay on his feet until the Wolves disappeared in the foliage, but then, once they were out of danger, he collapsed on the cold, hard ground. He was badly hurt, and Claire could see he was bleeding...

But she could also see the way back home, and Philippe had somehow remained there, with her. She was so close from going back home – so close to her father...

Her gaze travelled between the path ahead of them and the fallen Beast a couple of times.

No.

She couldn't leave him there. Not after he'd saved her.

Besides, if she were to go away, the wolves could come back, and he would be done.

Having made her choice, the blonde ran to the Beast and knelt by his side. He was barely conscious, and his breathing was weak, but he was alive.

"I need you to help me," she said gently, looking into his deep, blue eyes and shaking him a bit. "I need you to stand up so we can go to the castle."

She wasn't sure if he'd understood, so she kept repeating it until her words penetrated the thick fog that reigned inside the Beast's tired mind. He struggled to get back on his feet, but together they managed to get him to mount Philippe. His body lolled dangerously from the saddle as the horse began his walk – because, they had to face it, the Beast was in no condition to gallop – back to the castle.

She kept talking to him on the way back, if only to ensure he wouldn't fall asleep. He couldn't black out. It would be the end if he did. Miraculously, they managed to return to the castle in one piece.

"Come on, we are nearly there," she whispered, helping him off the horse. "We must get you to your room."

They made it through the door, Claire having to painfully help the Beast from the horse outside just beforehand, and she immediately cried for help as they came to the stairs. Of course, no one who could move quickly was large enough to help her get him up them, but Noel helped her keep him talking while Fran dashed to the kitchen to get hot water, a clean cloth, and bandages.

They didn't know how deep the wounds were yet, but she took a sewing kit with her as well, just in case.

Soon, the Beast was in his bed, having his wounds dressed by Claire.

She had read how to do it in a book a while ago, and never thought she'd actually need it.

And yet here she was, cleaning blood from his fur around the cuts before gently dabbing the warm, wet cloth against the wound. The Beast sucked in a breath, and yelled out.

"That hurts!" he growled, balling up the bed-sheets in his clenched fist.

C.C. stopped cleaning his wounds for a second and glared down at him. They had to do this, whether he liked it or not! The wounds could get infected, and the last thing she wanted was for him to d-

She chose not to finish that thought. Instead, she went back to the task at hand.

"If you held still, it wouldn't hurt as much!" she admonished him, pressing the hot cloth against one of his wounds, making him flinch.

"If you hadn't run away in the dead of the night, none of this would have happened!" the Beast rebuked.

"Well, if you hadn't frightened the living daylights out of me I wouldn't have ran away!" the young woman snapped, just about managing to keep from pressing on his wound a little bit too hard. "Now, don't be such a cry baby, you big, hairy child! Stay still and let me work, Monsieur..."

She trailed off, her anger slowly ebbing away. It had just occurred to her she didn't know his name!

"Master Niles," the Beast grumbled.

"Niles," she repeated. "Alright. Please roll to your-"

"I said, _Master_ Niles!" he insisted, annoyance dripping from his voice.

"And I said I shall call you _Niles_."

"What makes you think you have the right to call me by my first name only?!" he demanded.

He would have probably folded his arms, too – it actually looked like he tried, only his wounds hurt too much so he had to put them back where they were.

"You never said otherwise," Claire replied simply, wringing out the cloth in the water. "Besides, if I'm going to be living here for the rest of my life, we might as well be on first-name basis, don't you think?"

There was a moody silence from him after her question, and Claire thought she could hear an intake of breath from someone else in the room. It was probably Maxwell.

"I still insist on being called Master," the Beast eventually snapped, flinching again as Claire pressed the cloth against one of his wounds.

"Well that's too bad," she said calmly. "Because I'm not going to call you anything other than Niles."

She wasn't going to let him bully her into backing down, either.

Whether he wanted it or not, he was going to be Niles to her.

"You are quite mouthy for a commoner," he grumbled after a few instants of silence. On any other occasion he would have never allowed a peasant to speak to him in such an insolent manner, but he was tired and in pain – his energies should be spent in getting better rather than in fighting.

"And _you_ have the temper of a five year old," she retorted, putting down the wet cloth to begin bandaging his wounds.

"Hey!" the Beast snarled again, attempting to move, but being kept in place by the pain.

"What?" said the blonde, affecting an innocent look. "I thought we were stating facts!"

"How dare y-"

"And I'll dare to even more if you don't keep still!" she cut across him, her voice sharp. "Lie down and let me work!"

Noel could scarcely believe his ears! This was fantastic! Absolutely wonderful! An unprecedented event! No one had talked back to their master – _ever_. But this young woman was not willing to coddle him. She was putting him in his place, even if societal norms indicated otherwise.

"And you think _this_ woman is the one?" said Maxwell in an undertone, staring daggers at Noel.

"That is exactly what I think," the candelabra replied quietly. "Don't you see it?"

Maxwell sighed, his eyes wandering over to his master and the girl. He didn't see how two people who argued so much could ever be...

But the way she was tenderly dressing his wounds, not allowing him to complain, and using the kind of voice one would only reserve for those they cared about deeply...it was almost confusing.

Could it really be possible? Noel seemed to think so – and so did Fran, and Plumet...

Claire, oblivious to their discussion, continued with her work. As the last of the bandages were tied and bound tightly to him, she brushed her fingers against his fur. It was only the tips, but she still felt it. It was...oddly soft. Much softer than she ever would've expected...

As soon as the thought registered, she retracted her hand, sucking in a breath.

"Is something the matter?" the Beast asked, probably concerned that she might have found something.

"No, no..." she tried to relax – there was nothing the matter. It was fine. "You're all done. Try to get some rest."

She nearly jumped out of his bed, suddenly craving to be in her own bed, away from the Beast. They were both tired, and the day had been draining – they needed to rest. She gave one last glance in his direction as she, Noel, Plumet and Mr and Mrs Sheffield quietly left their Master to rest.

"We are eternally grateful for what you did, Honey," Fran said, breaking the silence.

"Indeed," Maxwell spoke – this was the first positive comment Claire had heard from him since she'd arrived! She couldn't help the frown, though. Why did they care so much about him? Why they, genuinely good and kindly people, care about a monster who didn't seem to think in anyone but himself!

"Why do you care so much about him?" she couldn't keep the question to herself.

The castle staff exchanged a few looks, and oddly enough, small smiles appeared upon their faces.

"We've looked after him all his life," Noel explained

"Yet he's somehow cursed you. You did nothing!" C.C. cried out, feeling completely at loss.

"Exactly," Maxwell sighed, his voice having taken a sorrowful tone. "We did nothing..."

That halted Claire in her tracks. What did that mean? Why did it sound like he was agreeing with her? Fran must have read something in her expression, because the teapot started to explain.

"When the master lost his mother, he was..." it sounded almost painful for her to talk about. "His father took over lookin' after him. Teachin' him, and tellin' him about the world."

Claire blinked, "Well, what's so bad about that? Shouldn't his father-"

"His father was a cruel man, Mademoiselle Babcock," Maxwell cut in, not wanting to beat around the bush any longer.

"An' he took a sweet, innocent little boy, and made him just like him," Fran finished sadly. "And we did nothin'."

Each of the servants looked deeply ashamed – of themselves, of the situation they found themselves in...and Claire found her heart breaking for them.

"And that is why we are as we are now," Noel explained. "An enchantress' punishment on us all for his father's cruelty passed onto him. And a rose she left behind for us to watch the petals fall."

That must have been the rose she saw in the West Wing. No wonder the Bea... _Niles._..had been so upset when she had almost touched it!

Claire swallowed, "What...happens when the last petal falls?"

"The Master will remain a Beast for all eternity," explained Noel, his eyes dropping to the floor. "And we..."

The candelabra trailed off, almost as if dreading to finish the sentence. No one spoke for a few moments, either, and Claire could feel her heart breaking again. None of them should blame themselves for what the cruel and powerful man had done to his child – it was beyond their control. They couldn't have prevented it, even if they'd tried.

"We'll become... antiques," Fran eventually spoke, her voice completely devoid of its usual cheerfulness.

"Knickknacks," added Plumet.

"Lightly-used houseware," Noel continued, attempting to lace an arm around Plumet's waist, but always being careful not to touch his plumage.

"Rubbish."

C.C. flinched at Maxwell's words. She didn't want that to happen to them...

She wanted to help them!

So she came to a halt only a few steps away from her bedroom door and crouched down so she could look at her new friends in the eyes.

"I want to help you," she said with a firm conviction.

That seemed to ignite a glimmer of hope in them, because they all started to slowly look up at her. and at each other.

This encouraged her to keep going, "There must be some way to break this curse!"

The servants looked more amongst themselves than at Claire that time – they couldn't let her know how to break the curse. Could they? Surely that wouldn't be right or fair. It would be like forcing her into something she had to decide for herself.

It wouldn't be like being matchmakers, it would be something terrible.

"There is one way," Maxwell began carefully.

"But it's not fer you to worry about, honey; yer helpin' just by being here," Fran finished, angling her body towards Claire's room. "Now ya'd better get ta bed and get some rest. The Master's gonna be wonderin' where you are in the morning if ya sleep in!"

That was a point, Claire thought. He'd probably move in the night and the bandages would have to be checked on and changed again. She'd get to sit by him again, close enough to touch...

She shook that thought out of her head and cleared her throat.

"Yes! You're right," she said, nodding briskly. "You're right, I should get to bed..."

So, bidding the servants goodnight, she went to her room and quickly shut the door behind her.

The only thing she would allow herself to think about was how tired she was, and how nice it would be to go to bed after a long, hard day.

She wasn't thinking about anything else _at all._

* * *

Stewart's vision was bleary when he first opened his eyes, and it took blinking painfully a few times before it cleared. He was...in his room, in his house? The last he remembered, he was in the forest...with...with Chandler...

 _Chandler!_

He tried to sit bolt upright, but his body complained too much. He felt like he'd been buried beneath tons of rock, and he had no choice but to collapse back against his pillows, sighing as much as he allowed himself to.

Chandler. That conniving...he couldn't believe he'd actually allowed the hunter to come with him! Why would he have helped him? He was a fool to think he would do it and mean it...

He'd just been so desperate for Claire – his little lost girl – to come home, that any offer seemed like a good one.

Speaking of help, who'd helped him? Someone must have brought him back from the forest – he wouldn't have made it by himself...

That was answered by a soft knock on the door, followed by it opening.

It was Sarah, carrying a tray.

"I would advise you not to move too much," the beggar said softly, setting the tray on the bedside table. Upon said tray there were a cup of tea and brand new bandages. How long had he been out? Clearly it had been enough time for Sarah to bring him back home and for her to tend to his wounds on top of that!

"You have a number of broken bones," the woman continued to explain as she perched on the side of his bed, "a few cuts and quite a lot of bruises."

She took the cup of tea in her hands and gently guided it to Stewart's mouth. The relief was instantaneous – he'd always found tea comforting, but this was something else! The warmth seemed to seep into his bones, soothing every fibre of his battered body. It also soothed the heartache caused by not having his child with him; not completely of course, but it helped nonetheless.

He didn't know exactly how long it would take him to get better, but he knew it would be a long time. Time his Claire didn't have.

"Better?" the woman asked, returning the now empty cup to the bedside table.

Stewart nodded, "Much, thank you..."

They shared a small smile before the blonde began tending to his wounds.

"You will need bed rest," she stated. "I would say a month and a half... maybe two."

What?! _Two_ months of bedrest?! He couldn't afford that! He had to help Claire! He had to rescue her from the claws of that... Beast!

"But... my daughter!" the inventor cried out, struggling to shift in bed. "She... she was..."

"Hush," Sarah placed her hand on his heart, and somehow Stewart managed to relax. Or, well, stop struggling. "I promise you she will be fine. But you cannot help her if you are hurt."

He knew she was right. If he couldn't even walk to the door without help, how was he going to go back into the forest and find his way around? His torso hurt too much to really talk very much as well, beyond a few broken sentences at a time...

Besides, something in Sarah's words...they made him feel better. Like she knew for sure that Claire would be fine where she was. He didn't know how she knew that, but it seemed like she was certain.

He supposed he had to trust her.

He nodded, as best he could, his face never leaving hers, "Alright...I'll stay..."

Sarah smiled gently, "Good. You'll be well soon enough."

She rose from the bed, and went out of the room again, leaving Stewart to his thoughts.

Well soon enough. He couldn't help but wish that "soon enough" closer.

He'd find his Claire, save her from the Beast that Sarah clearly knew nothing about (otherwise she would never think that she was safe!), and then demand justice for his treatment at Chandler's hands.

But dreaming and wishing was all he could do for the time being.

No matter what he wanted, Sarah was right in that all he could do was rest.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Chapter 4_**

It didn't take long for Claire to discover that, despite being hidden in the midst of an impenetrable forest, the day began early in the castle. Servants were up and about at the break of dawn, going about their chores, one of them being preparing her breakfast.

As a matter of fact, Claire was awoken by Mrs Sheffield bringing her a hearty breakfast to bed, which she enjoyed thoroughly. It had been years since she'd last had such a good breakfast! After leaving Paris their way of life had become a lot more austere, and hefty meals had been a pleasure they hadn't been able to indulge in for years.

But, being the active and dutifully woman she was, she didn't stay in bed for long. Sylvia had provided her with another dress for the day – it had a beautiful light-blue colour and as it was made of cotton, it was very comfortable and it allowed her skin to breathe.

Perfect for her appointed chore – caring for Niles.

He was still asleep when she arrived in his rooms, so not wanting to disturb his rest, she merely stayed by his side, with little Grace as her companion. The teacup was a curious little thing, and she was amazed by the fact Claire was so well read! Grace did know how to read, but she hadn't been able to open a book in years given her current… shape.

It was lucky that Claire happened to have a book with her – she'd found it in a small bookshelf in her room, and, of course, she hadn't been able to leave her rooms without a book! So the two girls settled down, Gracie on a cushion at the end of Niles's bed and Claire on a comfortable armchair next to it, and the blonde began to read.

"Love can transpose to form any dignity," she recited, the words rolling pleasantly from her tongue, "Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind and therefore-"

"And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind," a hoarse voice cut across Claire's.

She started, and her eyes snapped towards the great form still lying in the bed. Niles had... _finished the sentence for her_? That could only mean he had read it before, and knew it well...

She half closed the book as he rolled to face her, pretty sure that she was unable to hide her surprise.

"You know Shakespeare?"

Niles rolled his eyes, "Of course I do. I had a very expensive education."

Claire bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from frowning. From what the servants had told her, it was likely his father often reminded him how much it cost to educate him. And it had led to him also obviously being very proud of it. But she wasn't going to talk about either of those things. If he read, and was well-read, then that meant they had some common ground, somewhere.

And common ground meant they could get along better. And that would make this new life so much easier...

Discussion was the best course of action.

"Romeo and Juliet is actually my favourite play," she said.

Niles let out a huff which sounded like a mixture of disgust and contempt.

"Why is that not a surprise?" he asked sarcastically.

"Excuse me?" C.C. asked sharply, struggling not to glare at the bed-ridden Beast – she truly didn't want to start arguing so early in the morning.

The Beast, having caught up her tone – a tone that suggested he would be in for a hard morning of arguing with his prisoner – backtracked. He told himself he wasn't surrendering to a commoner, but rather this was tactical retreat.

 _Maybe_ if he kept saying so he would believe it...

"Well, all that heartache and pining and..." he screwed up his face in disgust, "So many better things to read..."

"Like what?" sneered the blonde, crossing her arms over her chest.

Niles gave her a sort of half-smile – a challenging smile, Claire reckoned – and sat up.

"I have to get dressed first," he informed her, gesturing for her to help him out of bed, which she did. "And then I'll show you."

And so, after the Beast had put on a new (and noticeably neater) suit, he left the room, beckoning for Claire to follow him down a long hallway she hadn't been to before. They reached a pair of carved double doors, which Niles pushed open with ease into the biggest library Claire had ever seen in her life.

"There might be a couple of things in here you could start with," Niles said.

A couple was an understatement and a half! The room was ceiling-high with bookshelves, all stacked almost to bursting, and they went all around the room, covering what would be at least two floors! The only space in the walls not covered by shelves housed a grand fireplace, a soft rug laid out in front as decoration. The furniture was all plush, for comfortable reading, and the writing desks covered in paper for note-taking.

It was absolutely beautiful, and looked like it was just waiting to be used...

Claire couldn't help twirling around as they walked further in, eyes drinking in every shelf with a look of awe.

"Are you alright?" Niles' voice snapped her out of it.

"Hm?" she blinked at him. "Oh, yes! It's just...it's magnificent!"

She thought, underneath all his fur, she could see Niles raising an eyebrow.

"Really?" his eyes darted around the room, as though considering something, before landing back on her. "Well, if you like it so much, then it's yours."

Claire's face broke into a hopeful, beaming smile and she spun to face him.

"You really mean it?" she couldn't believe it if he did. She'd never had so many books all to herself in her entire life!

He gave a soft shrug, "Of course I mean it."

She really didn't know how she'd thank him for it, but something would present itself eventually.

"Thank you," she limited herself to saying and she gave him a soft, truthful smile. And for the first time, her smile reached her sapphire eyes. They looked away quickly, lest the moment (which was, admittedly, quite pleasant) become uncomfortable. She stared around in awe and let out an excited giggle.

These would keep her busy for so long...

They continued to wander, him showing her around. The library, despite the rest of the castle falling into disorder, had been left beautifully intact – all the books were lined neatly on the shelves, each in their proper place in their volumes and their sets. Niles had mentioned having an expensive education...C.C. wondered how much of this was personally his that he was giving to her...

"Have you read all of these books?" she asked.

Niles made a thoughtful noise before answering, "Hm...not all of them. Some of them are in Greek."

Was... was that a _joke_?

It sounded like one! But had he truly made a joke?

She couldn't say for sure, but maybe... maybe she had been wrong about him. Albeit slight, the change in his attitude was there – he was still a bit mean, unrefined and coarse, but at the same time there was something... sweet, almost kind, about him. He seemed unsure as well, like those new traits were a novelty for him as well.

Why hadn't she seen that before?

"Oh my!" she affected surprise, "We have to see if pigs are flying! Did you just make a joke, Niles?"

For a moment, he looked unsure – if slightly annoyed – but his expression slowly melted away, giving way to a sort of tremulous half-smile.

"I... I don't know," he shrugged, turning his back on her, "Maybe..."

Claire smirked. He shuddered slightly as he walked away and she could almost see the confused frown on his face. His attitude was, indeed, surprising everyone in the room, including the parson to whom the aforementioned attitude belonged. But it didn't last for long – there were too many books in the room for her to ignore them for any great length of time.

So she grabbed as many as her arms could carry, and settled down in front of the fireplace to read them.

To her surprise, Niles stayed with her while she did.

Which she just had to ask about. It would seem more...well, him, if he went back to whatever he did during the day.

"It's been a while since someone else has been here reading, hasn't it?" she turned another page, careful not to damage the book. It was heavy and extremely old, and she didn't want to leave even the slightest tear in the pages.

"Years," Niles replied, eyes cast downwards towards the pile of books in front of her. "I used to spend a lot of time in here, with my..."

He trailed off, which of course Claire noticed immediately, and she put the book down to look up at him questioningly.

"My mother," he eventually relented. "It was, in truth, thanks to her that my education was so expensive. She apparently practically insisted on it."

She casted her eyes downwards again, but only for a moment. The Be- _Niles_ , she corrected herself, looked almost... sorrowful? She remembered the castle staff telling her about him losing his mother when he was very young, and it inevitably reminded her of...

Of herself. This was something they both understood – the pain of losing their mothers at a young age. She didn't necessarily classify it as something to bond over, but maybe it was something that they could help each other with.

There was no solution for their mothers being gone, but they could offer each other the invaluable gift of lending an ear and, maybe, a shoulder to cry on.

She'd never been able to talk much about her mother – it was too painful for her father – but maybe this was her chance to do so.

"Your mother sounds like a wonderful woman," she said in a quiet voice, stroking the page of her book with her fingertips. "My mother was the one who taught me how to read..."

Niles blinked, "You didn't have a teacher for that?"

"Us commoners can't afford private tutoring," C.C. then frowned immediately, biting the inside of her lip some. "Not that it's a bad thing you got a tutor to-"

"No, no," Niles shook his head. "That's not what I meant, either; it just surprised me that there was no school available."

That only made Claire frown more. Even in Paris, there hadn't been a school for girls; the idea of one out in the countryside was wonderful, but clearly an ideal that wasn't going to be reached.

"The village only teaches boys," she replied, re-reading the same sentence for possibly the twelfth time over. "Girls are supposed to be wives and mothers, and reading means they start thinking, which means that they might get the idea that they don't have to be just wives and mothers..."

She sighed heavily, and shut the book with a thud.

"Let's just say I was considered odd, at best."

There was a long silence after her admission, but Claire didn't dare to look up at Niles. She refused to let anyone – least of all him – see her vulnerability. Although she had never really been interested in fitting in, being ostracised and criticised for the sole reason of being an intellectual hurt her deeply. It sometimes made her wonder if her way of life was worth the loneliness.

Perhaps, she should be ashamed of what she was doing and of the person she was.

Her rational mind always contested these toxic claims made by her fears, but it never really was enough to fend off these attacks.

"I don't think you are odd."

Claire's head snapped up at the sound of Niles's voice, a puzzled look on her face.

"Pardon me?"

"I said that I don't think you are odd," repeated the creature, his voice having gained confidence. "Curious? That's certain. Feisty? No doubt about that whatsoever. Argumentative? _God knows_ you have the gift to get on my nerves faster than anyone else on this pla-"

"Does this merry tirade have a point?" she cut across, giving the Beast an acrid look.

"No – I mean... Yes! What I wanted to say is that you are...uh… special!"

The usage of that word seemed to make matters worse and the blonde took a look of offence. She dropped her book on the floor and prepared to get to her feet.

Ugh... why was it so difficult to talk to her?!

"No wait! That's not the words I wanted to use..." he said, feeling like banging his head against a wall – God knows he should be well-spoken given his expensive education! "What I mean to say is that... you are different. But in a good way."

Claire considered him – the way he was half reached out, like he was preparing to stop her. He didn't look angry, like she'd expect. He didn't even look annoyed. It more looked like... _fear_? Fear that she was about to get up and walk out?

That wasn't like him. Surely he wanted to yell because no one dared leave his presence before he had told them they could go?

This looked more like he was afraid she wouldn't stay.

And the more she looked at him, the more she felt like maybe she really didn't want to go after all...

He had apologised, in his own way, and hadn't meant what he'd said. She owed him a chance, didn't she?

So she resettled herself on the floor, and opened the book again.

"Alright; you're forgiven," she said, the edges of her mouth curling into a small smile. "Perhaps I got a little ahead of myself, when I heard what you said. If we both apologise properly, can we continue from here?"

She didn't know why, but she very much wanted to start afresh.

His meek, yet clearly enthusiastic, smile suggested he agreed with her idea. They'd started off on the wrong foot, so a fresh start was due. They had an eternity ahead of them, which would be made a lot more agreeable if they learnt to deal with one another.

"I think I'd like that. So... uh... I am sorry for... well... my treatment of you," Niles fumbled, nervously rubbing his paw against the back of his neck.

For C.C. it was almost... endearing to see him so flustered. Not to get her wrong, his apology was required for them to have any kind of amicable relationship – he had been awful with her the first few days – but she decided to allow him some leeway in his conduct. He was trying to be kind to her, and she appreciated that more than he could possibly imagine.

"And I am sorry for endangering your life and for my harsh words," she said, quickly edging over to him. He was bemused by her actions, not because he found them unpleasant, but rather because no one apart from his servants had willingly gotten closer to him since his transformation.

She relaxed against his side, completely at ease and seemingly unaware of the feelings that her innocent movements roused in Niles's heart. He actually felt a lump forming in his throat – this was the first time in a decade that he experienced any form of pleasant human contact.

How could such a gorgeous creature treat him so kindly – how could she ignore his monstrous appearance? How could she be so at ease with him? She didn't seem to be affronted by his external appearance...

It was almost as if it was of no importance to her.

And the feeling of her body against his...it was...soothing, and yet exciting all at once.

But he had to be careful. He didn't want to scare her by making any sudden movements, or by appearing overly enthusiastic. She had opened her book again, and was back on the page that she had been on before.

Did...did she intend for them to read together?

He was more than willing to do so if that was what she intended.

"I was here, in Act Two," she tapped it with her finger, before looking up towards him. "Do you...um..."

She was nervous to ask. What if he didn't want to read with her? What if it was all moving too fast for him? What if he felt uncomfortable at her closeness, and was just being polite? She hadn't exactly asked...

But he hadn't told her to get off, either. It was well within his right to do so if he didn't want her there.

So, maybe...it was alright?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

She swallowed, and tried again, "Do you want to read with me? I'd really like it if someone could read Oberon while I read Titania."

Niles felt his heart giving a leap. Of course he wanted to read with her! He loved A Midsummer Night's Dream – his favourite of Shakespeare's many plays. He'd pored over its pages uncountable times, especially during the darkest moments of his confinement. And now, here he found himself. Sitting by the most beautiful women he'd ever seen and being kindly invited to read with her. Her beauty had stricken him since he'd first seen her; it wasn't an earthly beauty. It bordered on divine...

So what other answer could he give her but an energetic yes? In his mind, there was no other possibility.

"I'd love to," said Niles, angling his body so as to have a better view of the text in Claire's hands.

The woman smiled up at him and laid the book between their laps. He could scarcely believe that this was actually happening...

" _What, jealous Oberon?—Fairies, skip hence_ ," she began in a clear and almost melodic voice, " _have forsworn his bed and company_."

" _Tarry, rash wanton_ ," he read Oberon's line, " _Am not I thy lord_?"

" _Then I must be thy lady. But I know when thou hast stolen away from Fairyla-_ "

Claire was cut off by a sudden knock on the door. It didn't take long for Noel to poke his metallic face round.

"Excuse me, Master, but lunch is ready."

It took Niles all of his willpower to not yell at the tiny candelabra for disturbing them. This was the first time in years he'd been so close to anyone, and the first time ever he'd felt the need to have a woman so close to him, like this. But he did respect the fact that she would have to eat at some stage, too. They both would, even if he was perfectly willing to forgo it just so that he would get to stay there, like that, with her.

Maybe a compromise could be reached...

He glanced down at her, and back up at Noel, who...seemed to look oddly pleased with himself.

No matter. He'd had an idea, and if it was acceptable to both of them, then everyone could be happy.

"Can you bring it in here?" he asked. It came out as a question, but he knew Noel would recognise it as an order. Then he looked at Claire. "Is eating in here alright by you?"

Claire smiled, "It sounds perfect."

That sent a flutter straight through his chest, and he smiled back.

"Have it brought in here, Noel," he could just about stop himself from crying out in joy.

Noel gave a flourished bow, "As you wish, Master."

He then turned and left them to themselves, completely and utterly delighted.

* * *

"That they're what?!"

That was exactly the satisfying reaction Noel had been hoping for when he told Maxwell about their master and a certain blonde beauty. He himself almost – ironically – couldn't believe the look of disbelief on the clock's face as he took it in. But Noel had been telling the complete and utter truth when he'd said that he'd seen his master sat side by side on the floor with Mademoiselle Claire, reading from the same book.

He'd seen it with his own two eyes, and he was living it up.

So he wasn't sorry when he folded his arms smugly, "You heard me. We have to bring lunch into the library because the Master and Mademoiselle Claire are reading."

He turned away, and smirked over his shoulder at where his friend was still stood, processing.

"From the same book. On the floor. Side by side."

"Did I hear that right?!" someone from above them practically screeched.

A someone who happened to be Fran. She hopped down onto her cart from the kitchen counter, and peered over the edge at them.

"You absolutely did," Noel replied. "Our Master and our guest are getting along rather well, if that little scene I just witnessed was anything to go by."

"And yer sure that's what you saw?" Fran queried, definitely curious and almost infinitely hopeful at the same time.

"Just as sure as I am that my name is Noel," he chirped before jumping onto one of the kitchen worktops. "We must prepare the perfect lunch for them!"

Fran laughed in delight, little puffs of steam coming out of her long spout. They were getting along! The pair of them were actually getting along! Perhaps, God willing, they would return to their human forms. She missed being able to hold her husband close or to play with her adoptive children and... well... she still wanted to have a child of her own.

She'd married Maxwell only a month before they were turned into housewares, and they hadn't been able to expand their family, like they had planned on doing...

But they had to have hope.

They had to trust that fate would be forgiving, and Claire and their Master would fall in love. And, from what they were able to see, things were finally on track.

Be that as it may, a little help from their part wouldn't be amiss.

" _Allez! Dépêche-toi!_ " Noel hollered, clapping his hands and encouraging the rest of the employees to hurry up. "We need that lunch ready today!"

Noel ran back to Maxwell, who was still rooted to the spot, and patted his back, almost as if to rouse him from his stunned state.

"Come on my friend! You need to take the hors d'oeuvres to the library!" the candelabra said with a smirk – he wanted Maxwell to see exactly the same thing he had. "Don't make the Master and his date wait!"

 _Date?!_

What did he mean by date?!

"Excuse me?!" Maxwell cried out. "Date?!"

Noel smiled brightly, "You know what a date is, mon amis. An occasion on which two people get together, for the possibility of something romantic happening."

Maxwell scowled, "I know what a date is, Noel, I just fail to see why the term should be used here!"

If it had been in his personality, Noel felt like he might have been taken aback by Maxwell's comment. It almost sounded like he didn't want this girl to be the one, for whatever reason! Maybe he'd grown so used to having no hope that the possibility of there being any was unnerving...

"Do you want to be human again, Maxwell?" Noel asked. "Get the chance to hold your wife again?"

This struck some kind of nerve in the clock, and he looked up anxiously towards Fran, who was either busy with something else or pretending very hard to be, before looking back at Noel.

"Of course I want that," he said quietly. "I'd give anything to hold her again..."

"Then, if you want to hold her again, let the Master have his opportunity to hold Mademoiselle Claire!" Noel exclaimed, shoving a tray of hors d'oeuvres in Maxwell's arms. "Take these to them, and let them know the main course is on its way."

The candelabra then turned and went further into the kitchen, checking on the rest of the meal, as Maxwell turned in the opposite direction, grumbling about how he was the head of the household and should have been giving that order. But he made his way to the library nonetheless, carefully carrying the tray all the way.

If it was as good as Noel said, he had to see it for himself!

The library door was ajar, and he could peek in even as he approached.

And what he saw made his – it couldn't be his stomach, it had to be his cogs – tighten up:

His master, and their guest, sat on the floor of the library. They were right by the fireplace, and seated so close together that one would demand they had a chaperone, if he was in a position to demand anything from Prince Niles.

He knocked before he entered, surprised when they didn't move apart.

Instead, Mademoiselle Claire looked up and smiled. His master then looked at her, before turning to him, beckoning him in with a wave.

"These hors d'oeuvres are the starter, my lord," Maxwell announced. "The main course is on its way."

"Fine. Leave the food on the coffee table," Niles replied, preparing to return to reading. However, the stern (if slightly reproachful) look he got from his guest prevented so. Had he upset her? What had he done?!

"Be polite," she said in an undertone and gesturing towards the mantle clock.

Be... _polite_? But Maxwell was a servant! Why should he be...?

He allowed that thought to trail off. He didn't want to argue over this – it had been years since he'd last had something that remotely resembled to fun, let alone fun itself! And he was having a good time with Claire; being impolite would only begin yet another argument, and he didn't fancy spending the rest of his day alone, as it had become usual since he'd been cursed.

Rolling his eyes and taking in a deep sigh, Niles turned to the clock and attempted a smile. He only managed a sort of crooked grin, but it was good enough for Claire.

" _Please_... leave them on the table," he said and immediately felt Claire nudging him in the side. "... _thank you_... Maxwell..."

The clock couldn't reply. He'd been stunned into silence. Had... had his master just... _thanked_ him? Prince Niles? _Being polite_?! At the request of his _prisoner_?! This was completely unheard of! Prince Niles never listened to anyone, let alone some village peasant they were supposed to be punishing!

But she'd put her foot down so rapidly, and so masterfully...it was like she was supposed to control his temper...

Could...could Noel really have been right?

The way Mademoiselle Claire lightly tapped him on the arm to see if he wanted to turn the page was...not exactly evidence to the contrary!

"Is there anything else, Maxwell?"

His master's voice brought him out of his reverie with a start.

"Oh! Um, no, my lord," he stammered. "No, please excuse me. I will go see how your main course is coming along..."

With a nod from his master, he turned and all but scurried from the room.

He had to get back to Noel!

Soon enough, every servant in the castle knew of the bonding taking place in the library. They all wanted to see it for themselves, so they all fought for the right to attend to them. It was a blessing that both prince and peasant remained in the library for the entire day – it gave the servants the opportunity to observe this more than peculiar behaviour on several occasions.

Claire and Niles went through numerous books – works from Shakespeare, Machiavelli, Spencer, Cervantes...

All of them were now scattered across the library floor, piled on top of each other as their readers continued to devour book after book.

Niles was genuinely... surprised? Awed, perhaps?... by how well read his guest was. The only reason behind him having read more books than her was that, unlike him, she simply couldn't afford to buy new volumes. Not to mention the fact that literate women were not seen in a good light by the people in the village.

He was also intrigued by how naturally she acted around him; it was almost as if she wasn't scared of him! She didn't shudder whenever his paw touched her soft, pale skin, nor she jumped whenever he moved around her. It was well after midnight (and after they'd both started new, separate books) that Niles realised Claire had fallen asleep on the sofa.

One of the maids had come in earlier in the evening to build a fire, and the light from the flames was softly illuminating her features.

She looked...gorgeous.

Well, she always had, but there was something alluring about the way the soft orange light danced off the curves and angles of her face, and the ends of her golden hair... And she looked so innocent, too, clutching her book and smiling some in her dreams... He couldn't think how anyone would want to be cruel to this woman. He knew ignorance made people do terrible things but he didn't understand how someone having a love of reading fit into that.

She was just so kind, and strong, even in the face of adversity. No matter where it came from.

And she looked far too comfortable for him to be compelled to wake her up...

But there was a blanket on one of the seats, which had been left for days when a person wanted to curl up as they read.

He looked back and forth between her and the blanket. Would she mind? Would she – Lord forbid – wake up and think he was trying to attack her, or worse? What if she screamed and wouldn't stop? She'd been so brave, up until now, that he didn't think he could handle it if she was suddenly afraid. For some reason seeing fear in her eyes as she looked at him was the worst thing he could possibly imagine.

But he had to take a chance. She'd be more comfortable if she had it.

So he grabbed the blanket, and swiftly went to tuck it around her, making sure no cold air could seep underneath. Unfortunately as he did, he slipped and fell, landing on the seat next to her! He feared the heaviness of his body landing there would wake her, and he stiffened, staring down at her in terror. How would it look if she woke up right there and then, with him next to her like that?!

But she didn't wake. She barely even stirred.

That was, until she shifted to get more comfortable, ending up with her head resting... _against him_...!

And was she... was she curling up?! Against his side?!

How could such a beautiful creature as Claire be at such ease with him? How could she be sleeping so soundly against... well... a Beast?

He disliked referring to himself as a Beast, but what other word could he use? Beings like him weren't supposed to be treated kindly by her ilk. Beings like him belonged in the shadows, away from the privy eyes of a cruel and judgemental world.

But she wasn't judgemental. She wasn't like the rest of the world – she'd proven that already. And, if he was being honest, he actually... liked this. He liked the feeling of her petite body against his and his soft breathing was almost... soothing.

So could he really move? Could he really risk waking up?

It didn't seem fair.

He had to stay for the sake of her rest.

Yes, the only reason why he wasn't going to move was because he didn't want to disturb her sleep. It had nothing to do with him enjoying this whatsoever.

So he made himself as comfortable as he could be and lay back against the sofa. It wasn't a surprise when he fell asleep, too.

That's exactly how Maxwell and Noel, who were wondering why their master and their guest weren't in bed, found them. The latter, barely able to contain his excitement (if he hadn't tried, he would have screamed aloud), began to bounce up and down at the sight of them, clapping in delight and nudging Maxwell in the side, pointing like a child who had just spotted something that he wanted.

Maxwell tried to swat his friend away, hissing, "Yes, yes, alright, I see them!"

"Then why are you not rejoicing?" Noel all but skipped towards their master and their guest. He held his arms up towards them like he was demonstrating. "Can you not see how wonderful this is?"

"If something really is happening then yes, it could potentially be wonderful," the clock wandered over to join him, voice low. "But if it isn't-"

"What about this makes you think something isn't happening, hm?" Noel put his hands on his hips, looking at Maxwell in annoyance. "Look at them, mon amis! If I were you, I'd have hired a chaperone by now! Who knows what could have happened otherwise..."

Maxwell cringed. He didn't want to think about that aspect of their master's life, especially not while they were all cursed this way. Noel was just trying to get a rise out of him, if the smug look on the candelabra's face was anything to go by.

So the clock tried moving the conversation on, gesturing towards the two sleepers, "Just wake them up, alright? And be delicate!"

"Are you insane?!" Noel practically cried out. "We are not waking them up!"

"What do you mean we are not waking them up?! It's not proper to-"

"Propriety be damned!" Noel hissed, gripping at Maxwell's hand and starting to drag him to the door. "We'll worry about propriety after the spell is broken, mon amis."

Forfeit propriety? How could Noel suggest such a thing! Beast or not, Niles was still a member of the royal family! They couldn't simply forget protocol! It was not how things were done! Maxwell yanked his hand away and began stalking towards the Beast and Mademoiselle Babcock. He may be a clock, but he was still the head of this househo-

"If you take one more step, Maxwell Sheffield, I promise you will regret it for the rest of our married life!"

His wife's voice made him freeze. He couldn't help it, she'd always had this way of getting him to do whatever she wanted just by saying it in the right way...

He turned around stiffly to see Fran trundle into the room on her cart, scowling down at him.

"Do you want to break this spell or not?"

He swallowed, "Um, well, yes, but not at the sake of-"

"No," Fran cut over him clearly and quickly. "There's no buts here. There's just us, and a chance that we can be the way we were again. And if we have ta ditch the rules ta speed up the process, then so be it!"

Maxwell could only stare back at her, shocked into silence. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Noel looking a mixture of astonished and pleased that he didn't quite like.

"You should listen to her, mon amis," the candelabra said. "None of us want to be this way forever. And if they wake up and realise, then we'll be back to normal, no? And we can restore propriety after that. What's one night, for the sake of getting our lives back?"

His eyes darted back and forth between them, unsure of what to do.

What they were saying made so much sense, but at the same time how could they abandon every rule they had ever lived by?

Lived by...they had a point, didn't they? They wouldn't live any longer if they let this curse go on. And this was the closest they'd ever been to being free. This was the closest he'd been to being able to hold his wife in his arms again.

This was the closest the master had ever been to being happy.

So, maybe, just for one night...they were already asleep anyway...

So he sighed and nodded, relenting, "Alright. One night. It won't hurt anybody."

"Exactly!" Noel burst out, beaming as he came to put one arm around Maxwell's shoulders, directing him away from the door. "And by tomorrow, if we are in the best of luck, we will be back the way we were and this whole nightmare situation will be over!"

The servants turned to head back down the corridor, leaving the door to the library ajar and two of them rejoicing loudly over tomorrow's possibilities.

* * *

 **AN: Sorry for the long wait, people! We have been packed with work as of late and we didn't have so much time to write. Anyway, we do hope you like this chapter and we'd love to hear your opinions!**

 **In other news, I (L) wanted to share with you these awesome news: I am travelling back to England in January! I will be visiting my friend H again! We are both elated.**

 **Until the next chapter.**

 **H &L**


	6. Chapter 6

**_Chapter 5_**

C.C. woke early the next morning, feeling a little stiff.

She hadn't opened her eyes, but she knew simply from the way she was laid out that she wasn't in her bed. _The library_ , her waking mind reminded her. She'd fallen asleep in the library. She stretched to prepare to sit up, and...and...

Her fingertips brushed something soft. Like _animal fur_.

That made her eyes jolt wide open. Immediately, she noticed the slumbering presence lying next to her, covered by a rather large blanket. The Beast — Niles, had fallen asleep by her side. She quickly discovered that she herself was covered with a blanket of her own, and she was not so subtly snuggled by his side. Had she... had she fallen asleep like this? Against _him_? She wanted to feel horrified at what had happened — embarrassed at such blatant disregard for property— but she couldn't quite manage it. She'd had one of the best night's sleep she'd gotten in a long time! She hadn't had any nightmares and she'd slept soundly throughout the whole night.

And as for Niles… he looked tranquil in his sleep — there was a trace of humanity in him that, when he was awake, wasn't quite easy to see. It intrigued her, yes, but most of all it made her long to trace the outlines of his eyes with her fingertips. She reached out, slowly, but her hand stopped mid-way...

 _What was she doing?!_

She couldn't just touch somebody else while they were sleeping! That wasn't polite! And the less she thought about any other implications, the better. There was no reason for her to touch him, none at all… In fact, she was even considering the possibility of getting up, and moving to somewhere else in the room. Maybe she could leave - breakfast was probably going to be served soon, so she could go and eat. But then again, she didn't actually feel like going anywhere, even if she did put her hand back down. Besides, it was too late to try and do anything. He'd started to yawn and stretch, blinking his eyes open and looking around blearily. Until his eyes landed on her. At which point they became wide, awake, and suddenly very aware of what must have happened.

"Um..." he mumbled, before clearing his throat. "Go-good morning..."

"Good morning," C.C. replied carefully, fingers gripping at the blanket to start peeling it away. "Did...did you sleep well?"

He nodded, feeling that his words were failing him. He didn't know quite what to do — should they mention what had happened? Should they ignore it? What should she do?! Heck, what should _he_ do?! They were clearly out of comfortable territory here, and neither of them knew how to proceed.

"You... you fell asleep..." he explained, gesturing lamely at the cover on her legs. "I... I thought that I ought not to disturb your sleep and... well… I didn't."

He fumbled with his own blanket and attempted a smile, but he just about managed a sort of half grin.

"Thank you..." she replied, smiling herself, "That was kind of you."

Her words caused a warmth to spread through his chest — a warmth he had never felt before.

"Don't mention it," he said, now feeling slightly more confident. "Would... would you like to have some breakfast? I'll ask my servants to-"

"We can prepare it ourselves," C.C. cut across him, "Do you know how to cook?"

 _Cook_? He'd read some books on the subject once, out of boredom on a rainy day, but he'd never actually put the words into practice! Why would he? He had a castle full of chefs and cooks and kitchen assistants who would bring him all sorts of delectable things when asked. He'd never had to so much as butter his own bread a day in his life. But somehow, this answer didn't seem satisfactory. It felt like it wouldn't impress her, and the thought of disappointing her made him feel...bad. Very bad.

But he didn't want to lie, either.

"I've, um..." he cocked his head from side to side. "Read up on it, but never actually...done so."

C.C. folded up her blanket, and tossed it lightly onto the sofa next to her.

"Well then, I guess I'll have to teach you," she said, rising to her feet. "We can start with something simple, and then go from there, alright?"

The way she spoke, like it was easy and wouldn't take any time at all...

Maybe with her it wouldn't...she was probably the most intelligent person he had ever met. She probably knew how to make a decent breakfast. And the servants might not even be around, and it would save yelling all over the castle...

Perhaps he should give it a chance...

So, he cast his own blanket aside, and made to stand up as well, brushing his coat off the best he could.

"Alright," he said, gesturing for her to go first as they began to head towards the door. "We can give it a try."

C.C. smiled to herself. She intended to do more than just "give it a try". She'd get him cooking yet! That thought fuelled her excitement as they made their way down to the kitchen, which at least appeared suitably empty. Not everything in the castle was a servant in disguise, but nothing acknowledged Niles as they came in, which left her thinking that they must have been alone. And while he glanced around, clearly unsure as to where to begin, she went rummaging around on the shelves and in the cupboards to find recipe books. One of them would have a good breakfast recipe in there somewhere, probably a way to have eggs...

The thought made her stomach rumble a bit, and she soon paused in her efforts as she heard a louder growling coming from behind her. She looked up, to see Niles sat at the table, looking down at his own stomach, before looking up at her. His stomach had protested, too.

She stifled a giggle, "Um...I suppose we'll be wanting a large breakfast..."

Niles clutched at his stomach, slightly embarrassed. Come to think about it, he'd never been hungry in his life. Being a prince, he'd never had to wait for food. The most delicious delicacies had been at arm's reach, and he'd never had to get close the kitchens! This was a new experience, and he felt a bit like a fish out of water.

"Aha!" C.C. exclaimed, dusting an old book that she'd found tucked in one of the cupboards. "This will work just fine!"

She scanned the book for a recipe that would suit the both of them, and near the end of the book she found it — a pain au chocolat recipe. She'd had it a few times when she was little, but after moving to Villeneuve they hadn't been able to afford it. It was delicious and easy to prepare, and she was sure Niles would enjoy it.

"Very well, we need to get you an apron!" Claire announced, smiling. "And then we have to get a few ingredients."

Claire moved quickly around the kitchen, gathering ingredients and one apron for him and one for her. She left the ingredients on the worktop and made her way over to Niles, carrying an apron with her.

"Put it on," she said, offering him an apron.

He blinked at it.

Put it on? That was what the servants wore to do...all the things that they did. It meant getting dirty, didn't it? That's what they wore it for, so they didn't get their uniforms stained. But she was holding it out to him, thrusting it in his direction insistently.

"Go on, it's not gonna bite."

Well, _obviously_ it wouldn't. But if he stood there any longer he'd be in danger of not getting any breakfast at all. So he took it, and unfolded it. Claire watched as he did. There was something almost...endearing...about his uncertainty. He'd obviously never done any of this ever, so the fact that he was trying was a step in the right direction.

What that direction entirely was, she didn't know. But she was happy for it.

That was, until she noticed he was having some trouble. Unfortunately, due to the hunch in his back and the size of his muscles, she noticed he couldn't tie the apron up.

"Here; let me help," she offered, taking a step behind him and tying a perfect bow tight enough to stop it from coming undone.

Before she could stop herself, she then patted his back, just above where the bow was tied.

"There," she said softly. "All ready."

Niles stood there, motionless, and feeling oddly _... giddy_. She had touched him — Claire had touched him willingly! It had been years since the last time anyone had taken the time to spare him a kind gesture. Throughout his life he'd gotten anything but flattery, and, after he'd been turned into a beast, horrified looks.

This was different.

And this different felt... _nice._

And it made him smile.

 _She_ , he was starting to realise, made him smile.

He followed her to the worktop and together they began preparing their breakfast. His big hands were clumsy and inexperienced at first, hovering aimlessly over the ingredients, not sure where to go or what to do; but with her guidance he slowly made progress. All the while she explained him what he had to do, step by step, kindly correcting him whenever he made a mistake and not caring about the fact that his size and his being unskilled in cooking had caused his apron to become a mess.

But, truly, Claire didn't seem to mind. She said that the mess was part of the fun.

He'd never thought that one could have fun like this. How was it possible? This was a job, done by people for other, higher up people. And yet here he was, enjoying the feeling of the dough being flattened beneath a rolling pin he was pressing into it, and silently delighting in the praise that Claire gave him when he did it well. He really was having fun, and he watched eagerly as Claire retrieved some of the castle's reserves of chocolate to form lines of it in the dough, before folding it over. Soon they had a baking tray full of unbaked pain aux chocolates.

"That should just about do it," Claire smiled, bringing over a little bowl full of eggs she'd been whisking and an odd-looking brush. "All that's left, is to put the egg glaze on the top, and we can get these baking!"

She handed him the brush and grabbed another one for herself, which she dipped in the eggy mixture. Niles observed her movements, carefully. He observed her delicate hands moving expertly over the unbaked treats, coating them with egg yolk as they went.

"It's easy," she explained, "It's like painting. Try it!"

Feeling somewhat unsure of himself, Niles dipped his brush in the bowl and imitated her motions, taking care not to spill the mixture.

"That's great!" C.C. said, smiling, "Now you can add making breakfast to your surely impressive list of abilities."

Not being able to help herself, she playfully smeared some egg yolk on his arm, giggling.

A shocked look from Prince Niles and a deeply penetrating silence. Those were the things that followed her doing that, and all of a sudden C.C. wondered whether it had been a good idea in the first place. Her laughter had drifted off what felt like hours ago, and no one had moved. She held her breath while her mind worked overtime. Why had she done it?! He was obviously going to be furious, and for good reason - he was a prince and she'd just smeared egg down him!

She'd just gotten so comfortable...

Too comfortable. And now he was reaching out towards her with one massive paw.

She wanted to run, but she couldn't. Whatever was going to happen, was going to happen.

She closed her eyes...

Just before feeling something light...and powdery...falling over her, making her cough.

She opened them again, and watched as the handful of flour cascaded down through the air...! He'd...thrown flour at her? He didn't seem angry. In fact, he seemed very pleased with himself over it! Her previously light-blue dress was now completely white, and her golden hair was a floury, compact mass! She couldn't help but gape momentarily, not even attempting to dust the flour from her body (although, at this point, she was in desperate need of a bath).

"What?" he said, beginning to smile.

"You... you threw flour at me!" C.C. exclaimed as she wiped some of it from her face.

"And you smeared egg on me," he countered.

"Are... are you actually _playing along_?" she said, feeling bemused and elated in equal measure.

He shrugged and went to place the tray with their breakfast in the oven. "Despite what you may think, I do have a sense of humour."

"And here was I thinking that you are but a sourpuss!" she said, and Niles failed to notice her moving towards him, with a cup of sugar in her hands. "It seems that you are... a _sweetheart_!"

As she spoke, she poured the contents of the cup all over the back of his coat, laughing like a child. With a yelp of surprise, he jumped away from the sugary attack, causing her to laugh even harder. But he immediately countered by scraping up a tiny ball of the leftover dough and chucking it. C.C. ducked and it missed, splatting against the wall. When she bobbed up again, laughing, she'd scooped up a handful of the chocolate shards that hadn't made it into their breakfast, and she half-heartedly tossed them in his direction. They didn't make it anywhere near him, however, because she was laughing too hard and dodging his attempts at covering her with more flour.

"Don't run and hide," he cried out jokingly, throwing another fistful of the stuff. "I've brought you _flours_!"

He really hadn't had this much fun in a very long time...maybe ever.

Even as a boy, he'd never been permitted to get so messy, or to mess up a room of the castle like they were busy doing. It would earn him a punishment if he did - and his father's punishments were never just stern words. But even now, as he and Claire playfully heckled each other across the room, throwing various foodstuffs, he could feel all of it melting away.

All the fears.

All the anger and the sadness...

All the loneliness.

Since Claire had arrived he had felt, for the first time in a very long time, like he wasn't alone. She was an unlikely friend in many ways (and his father, had he been alive, would have been horrified at him fraternising with a commoner), but for some reason he couldn't imagine a better company than her. Was he growing soft? He'd never cared much about anything but himself, not to mention that, for many years, he'd regarded women to be but mere toys. Pretty things that served as decoration, but nothing else.

Claire was not an ornament or just a pleasant decoration to look at — no, she was so much more. She was smarter than him, even if his education had been considerably more expensive than hers; she was strong, a force to be reckoned with...

She was the full force of nature.

And she was as kind as she was beautiful...

He simply couldn't stop thinking about her-

"What on Earth is going on here?!"

They both froze, half-way to unleashing more food missiles at each other, and turned their heads towards the door. They couldn't say for sure how long Maxwell and Noel had been stood there, but they could tell that one was considerably happier than the other. The clock could not be more horrified by what he'd discovered, but the candelabra looked...overjoyed? Definitely amused, anyway. Probably holding himself back from laughing, and doing it well.

"Um..." C.C. coughed out a laugh, and lowered her arm, relaxing from her "attack" stance. "We were just...having some fun while breakfast cooks."

She gestured towards the oven, causing Maxwell's features to drop even further.

"You're...making food?!"

"Yes, Maxwell, we are," Niles replied, also straightening up. He dumped the handful of flour onto the table, causing a cloud in the room which everyone pretended not to notice. "Is there a problem?"

The little clock looked back and forth between his master, Claire, and Noel, finding no help from any of them. They were cooking! The master wasn't supposed to cook! And the kitchen...it was a complete mess!

"I-I...I...food...the kitchen..."

He fumbled uselessly with his hands, his voice failing and his words getting stuck in his mouth before they could leave it. The master had never stepped a foot in the kitchen, let alone to prepare his own food! His father would have been scandalised! And yet here he was... playing... with none other than a commoner maiden. It didn't make much sense, and perhaps it was the proof of what he'd so desperately been ignoring — that his master was smitten with Claire. He knew it should overjoy him — there was a chance to break the spell! — but in truth it scared him.

Because how could such a beautiful creature love a beast?

His Master was his dear friend, but falling in love with him... he wasn't sure Claire was kind and pure enough to do it.

"It was my idea," Claire spoke, "I... I started the food war by smearing egg on Niles."

And she didn't even refer to him by his title?! What kind of respect was that?! Surely any woman who loved him would refer to him by his title, until she had been given permission to call him by his name! But before he could raise his voice to firmly request that she refer to their master by his proper title, the prince himself spoke up.

"Yes, and I was the one who continued with the flour," he explained, gesturing all around them. "Things got...a little out of hand."

Maxwell thought he heard Noel mutter something about it being fun though, but he chose to ignore it. Somehow, he didn't think the candelabra would be on his side in this.

"Yes, I... can see that," he replied carefully instead, keeping himself under control. He started to edge out of the room, towards the corridor. "I will just fetch one of the chefs to finish your breakfast, and a kitchen maid to clean this up. We will not discuss this with anyone, and you can take your meal in the dining room as soon as it is ready, Your Highness."

"No...!"

That one word from Niles stopped Maxwell in his tracks, who turned to him confusedly.

"S-sir?"

"Mademoiselle Claire and I will finish the breakfast ourselves," Niles said. The order was clear. "We've done well enough up until now. Give the chefs and the maids a break for a while longer."

Maxwell feared he might collapse at that statement. His master had never cared about the lower ranking servants that much in his life, let alone spoken aloud about giving them an extra break when they could be working!

When they _should_ be working! This was their work, not their master's...it was all so odd...

Nothing had been the same since Mademoiselle Claire had turned up, though.

It was down to her that he was nearly rendered speechless.

"Give them...a break..." he managed to get out, reaching out to lean against the doorway for support.

"Yes, that's right," Niles said, turning between him and Claire. He was looking at the woman like he was searching for her approval, or some sign of support for what he was saying.

And he found it.

"We...didn't want to put anyone to any trouble," she explained. "So we thought we'd do it ourselves. I took some of the recipe books out, and they worked just fine."

Niles shrugged a little and nodded, and for the first time in years, Maxwell felt like he needed to sit down.

Everything was happening so fast! His head was spinning...

"Of course, it probably would've been done faster if His Royal Highness here knew the first thing about cooking. If we got anything at all that wasn't burned beyond recognition!"

It was out of her mouth before she could stop it. It must have been. Maxwell felt everything in his body - all the cogs and the gears and the organs they once represented, he felt them tense and grind like they were coming to a halt. Even Noel had frozen, his eyes darting towards his friend. The candelabra looked confusedly unsure, but Maxwell knew what was coming next.

Prince Niles never let anybody talk to him like that. No one.

He was going to make her sorry she ever came, and they'd be doomed to this life for good.

"A student is as only as good as their teacher, young miss," Niles retorted, a hint of a smirk on his features. "Maybe you'd have been happier if I'd let you do it all by yourself, like you simple peasants do down in the village?"

Oh, for the love of…

Everyone in the room (except Niles himself, of course) could soon tell that Niles' choice of words had been... unfortunate. Claire's smile fled from her face and she directed an icy glare towards the prince.

"Fine," she said in a dry, clipped voice, "Let this simple peasant finish it by herself, Your Royal Highness."

Her voice was dripping with contempt.

She briskly turned on her heel and strode back to the messy worktop, which she began to clean.

"Mademoiselle?" asked Noel, looking between the irate blonde and his now clearly upset master.

"Get out," Claire deadpanned, not looking at Niles or even Noel — she only continued to clean. "I'll finish by myself. You go about your day."

"Bu-"

"Fine!" snapped Niles, dusting himself off, "I am not hungry anymore!"

"Fantastic! I guess I'll have them all to myself!" C.C. shot back, dropping the dish cloth she had on her hand. "Or better yet, I'll just throw them all away!"

Not giving anyone the chance to formulate a reply, she stormed out of the kitchen, not even glancing at Niles when she went past him. Their eyes followed her as she left, Noel making an attempt to reach out towards her but not making it before she'd turned the corner, no doubt to head to her room. The three men left in the room all looked between each other, Niles huffing.

"I doubt I'll ever understand women," he muttered.

He must have been hoping they'd agree with him, but when Maxwell looked over at Noel, his friend didn't appear comfortable. Not surprising, really, considering what had just gone on. The prince couldn't see that he'd been the one to instigate this whole thing...

He was royal; people were supposed to agree with everything he said, no matter what. But he had to work things out with Mademoiselle Claire! She was the girl they'd been waiting for, wasn't she? Someone had to make him reconsider. He wouldn't be angry for long and if someone could talk him through it, maybe he'd apologise. Or, at least learn. Maybe give it a go.

Now all he had to do was convince Noel to give their master that talk.

So he gestured back and forth, all the while Noel looked at him in various annoying ways; like he didn't know what he meant, like he was pretending to consider, and then finally with a smirk as he lazily looked past their master to the oven, the other end of the kitchen.

"Oh, master! The food!" he cried out, hurrying towards the oven and abandoning Maxwell to his fate. "Worry not - I'll get it!"

He directed one last smirk in Maxwell's direction as he hopped away from them, leaving nothing but an uncomfortable silence behind. Only Niles' defeated sigh broke it, and so did his heavy steps as he turned to the exit door.

"I will be in my rooms," he announced, sounding downcast rather than angry. He'd truly hoped to have a nice morning! And yet she had once again run away from him.

Like everyone did.

She was no different than the rest of the world, and he'd been a fool to think someone like her could love someone like him. That was when Maxwell had to step in, shuffling as fast as his stub legs would carry him, waving his arms.

"No! Master, wait!"

Niles turned, unused to being treated in such a manner. But Claire had yelled at him, so why not humour Maxwell, too? It seemed he wasn't in control of anything around his own castle anymore, so he might as well. It wasn't like it would make any difference in the long run.

"For what?" he asked, irritated. "You heard everything."

"Yes, but I..." was he really about to say this? "Uh..."

Niles shifted his weight from one foot to the other, "But what, Maxwell?"

"I...I think I know how you can make things...better, with Mademoiselle Claire," he finished, feeling like his heart would be in his mouth if he technically had one right now.

Niles pursed his lips, " _Better_? You think this can be made better?"

"Yes, I do," a part of Maxwell was wondering what insanity was compelling him to say all of this so bravely. "I think a good, structured apology and maybe...maybe a talk over dinner, and she'll...come around."

" _Apologise_?!" Niles cried out, almost in disbelief. "Why should _I_ apologise?! She was the one who started it-"

"Oh, for the love of God!" said another (and very nasal) voice from behind him. They turned to find Mrs Sheffield hopping towards them, little puffs of smoke coming out of her spout. Both men could tell she was mad.

And Maxwell knew just how unfortunate it was to have his wife's wrath directed at one.

"Sweetheart, I-"

"Shut up, Maxwell, and let me deal with this!" she cut across him, "And you, Mister, will apologise to Mademoiselle Claire as soon as possible! Otherwise I promise you will be drinking cold tea for the rest of your life!"

Niles blinked.

She didn't mean it, did she...?

"I...I will...?" he asked, now feeling uncomfortable. He'd needed Claire to learn how to bake, he doubted Fran would teach him how to make tea, or any other kind of drink, if he didn't fix this.

"You can bet everything you own," she replied sternly. "That young lady was tryin' ta joke with you, and how did you reply? By tellin' her just how much better everythin' is at the top, where you are, and that she'll never reach it 'cause she was born a peasant girl, down in the village!"

Silence, during which Niles came to the conclusion that maybe Fran did have a point.

He hadn't meant to imply anything, he was trying to joke back with Claire. But it clearly hadn't come out that way. And he'd made her upset. So, sighing, Niles rubbed the back of his neck as he directed his gaze towards the ground.

"How should I make it up to her?"

Fran smiled brightly and turned back to the kitchen, an even if she didn't have hand Niles could almost see her beckoning for him to follow.

"I think I might have an idea!"

* * *

 **AN: Hey! Sorry for the hiatus, life has been rather stressful as of late, but now we have more free time available and we wanted to give you a new chapter! We'll also be publishing a new story, so if you feel like it we'd love you to take a look at it!**

 **H &L**


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